


As Certain Dark Things are to be Loved

by somuchcloser



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Disorder, F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Content, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-23
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-10 13:03:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 59
Words: 191,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/466612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somuchcloser/pseuds/somuchcloser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dark Magic changes a person. What lines do you cross to kill Voldemort? What do you give up to save the world? And how do you live afterwards? Starts off VERY dark and gets lighter; some sex & torture. Hermione-centric story; slooowly develops into Dramione. The wait is worth it, though; promise. 1 yr post Battle of Hogwarts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Do Not Love You as if You Were

**Author's Note:**

> Rated Mature for violence and future sexual situations. This is mainly a Hermione-centric fic; it starts off Hermione/Ron, and will progress to Hermione/Draco. The progression is long, however, as this is Hermione's story, and not just a Dramione piece. I'm not going to Weasley bash, and I'm going to keep the characters as true to life as possible (in other words, Hermione doesn't turn into a sex goddess and Draco doesn't become a Hufflepuff).
> 
> It's almost 1 year after the Battle of Hogwarts; everything remains as in Deathly Hallows, but Voldemort didn't die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this story comes from a poem that is very dear to my heart, "Sonnet XVII" by Pablo Neruda. It's one of the only poems I have memorized by heart, and I think it is incredibly beautiful. The full line is as follows: "I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul."

It was toward the end of the 2nd Wizarding War that she lost control, although she had no way of knowing how close they were to killing Voldemort at the time. She had once vowed to never use Dark Magic, but eventually, the Cruciatus curse became like second nature to her. The first time she tried it, purely out of blind panic, she retched for hours. She was unable to look at herself in the mirror for days.

You have to mean that curse. You have to want someone to suffer. 

The second time it happened, she told herself it was a mistake. The curse had been in the back of her mind for weeks; she had become obsessed with her sin. When she encountered the masked Death Eater, when she had stood face to face with her own mortality, just inches from a missed Killing Curse, it slipped from her lips. Of course, it wasn't just a slip.  She could tell from the screams of the Death Eater that she had wanted this.

It became easier and easier to justify. If they could throw Avada's around without a thought, shouldn't she be able to fight back with something stronger than a stunning spell? Didn't the Order deserve something to even the playing field?

It continued that way for a while. She was in control, she was capable of wielding the curse and remaining herself. Harry and Ron were concerned about her, of course, worried that the amount of hatred necessary to control the curse would affect her. Who were they to say, though? Both of them had thrown their fair share of Crucios. Wanting to be accountable for herself, she kept track of the number of people she cursed, remembered their faces, the sound of their screams. This power was her own. She was in control of her magic.

* * *

She didn't expect it. He gave her no indication of his presence; she didn't feel the foreboding, cloying sensation of Dark Magic. One moment she was on guard duty, walking the perimeter of Hogwarts, and suddenly she was face-down on the ground, felled by a Body-Bind Curse. By the time she realized what had happened, his boot was on her face, and he was pushing her cheek into the mud. He leaned closer, his breath on her skin, "Ahh well, this all too fitting, isn't it?  What a lovely scene, Gryffindor's Princess, filthy inside and out." She didn't recognize his voice. From her vantage point, she could see one dark leather boot, and the black of his robe.  His wand draged against her cheek. "Hermione Granger, the champion of the Mudbloods. Do you know how long I've been searching for you? How long I've dreamt about getting you alone, on your back, in the mud?" With a flick of his wand she was flipped, her spine aching from the sudden impact of the ground, her neck snapping back as her vision was now filled with sky and treetops. Slowly his face came into view, and she knew him. Theodore Nott. He was a classmate of hers at Hogwarts; while they had never spoken more than a word or two to one another, they had sat Potions together. He was intelligent, though soft-spoken. He was a Slytherin, but had never really joined in on the torment Malfoy so enjoyed. In another world, they may have been casual acquaintances, friends, even.

But this wasn't another world.

* * *

**Day 1**

She awoke in an unfamiliar dungeon, and there was pain. She remembered hearing the Crucios, and feeling the agony. Her swollen eye told her that not all of her injuries were magical. The metallic taste of blood filled her senses, and she was having difficulty breathing - most likely caused by broken ribs or a collapsed lung, she thought. 

She took inventory of her condition, and she waited.

* * *

**Day 5**

The next time she was fully aware of herself and her surroundings, days later, she was in less pain, but the nausea and dread that she felt was just as debilitating. Her clothing was minimal. She knew these monsters would use anything and everything to torture, but she didn't let herself dwell on the possibilities. She was in a cell, lying on a cement floor. Directly in front of her she saw the bars that held her hostage, and beyond them, stairs leading up to a landing. In the corner of her small room she saw a piece of bread and a glass with some sort of liquid; innocuous, it looked just like water, and she was incredibly thirsty. "No," Hermione whispered, shaking her head. She couldn't drink that, couldn't eat the bread. She was sure that it was cursed; there was no way in hell she would touch that food. She gathered the deepest breath possible, which wasn't saying much in her current condition, and she screamed for help. There was no answer.

* * *

**Day 16**

She couldn't breathe, couldn't scream, couldn't THINK. All that existed was the pain. White-hot, searing. Pain. Like she was burning alive, swimming in acid, breathing in soot and ash and death. Then it stopped.

When she was able to open her eyes, she saw him again. Nott. His tall frame filled her vision. He had one hand clasped tightly on her neck and the other wrapped around her waist, pulling her towards him. Was she standing? How could she stand after all that torture? She looked up, confused, and realized with sudden horror that she was bound to the wall by her hands. Theo Nott's eyes lit up, filled with… on anyone else it would have been described as joy, but such a creature could not know that sort of happiness. Anticipation? Delight? Pleasure. 

He let go of her neck and her hip, tracing his finger across her clavicle, down her sternum, then stood back and grinned. "Awake at last, Princess. I've been missing you terribly, I must admit. All that unconsciousness left me positively bored stiff. I much prefer you awake. I like a bit of fight in my girls. Keeps things… interesting." His mouth smiled widely, but his eyes… they didn't even look human anymore. There was a feral quality about them that chilled her through and through. Where was the boy she had seen at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall? They had only been out of school, what, 2 years? Less, for Nott, if he had attended seventh year. How could he become an animal in such a short time?

He leaned back, letting his eyes slowly drag down her body. She felt the bile rise in her throat as he let out a soft moan. "Lovely little Mudblood you are. A little bit on the skinny side, but then again, it has been a while since I let you eat anything of substance, hasn't it? Something savory, perhaps?" He leaned close again, his mouth on her ear, "Or do you prefer something sweet?" His teeth nipped at her earlobe, "I know I do."

She tried to keep quiet - concentrated on her breathing, tried to clear her mind. She wouldn't yell, or cry, or beg. She would be like ice, cold, immobile. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of her pain.

Nott slowly dragged his hand down the side of her face to her collar bone, whispering over her side, her hip, and then reached into his pocket for his wand. She felt the tip of it poke into her stomach, and he whispered an incantation. The wand pulled across her bare midsection, and each movement felt like a blade in her belly. Hermione closed her eyes, her throat burned to release the pent-up scream she would not give him. She fought the tears furiously, and felt nothing but shame as the first one escaped her. She tried to keep her eyes closed but the agony was too much. He slowly leaned forward and caught her tear on the tip of his tongue. When he was done, she allowed herself to look. He'd written his name on her, deep red.

If she survived this, she would make him pay. If she survived this, she'd write her name in his blood.

* * *

**Day 47**

Revenge came weeks later, although with her present perception of time, it may as well have been months. That day he had changed his routine. Normally he would set a bit of food at her feet, release her bonds and watch her fall on her hands and knees. That day, however, he came to her cell in dress robes and, with all the etiquette and manners his Pureblood heritage afforded him, he asked if she would be so kind as to join him for lunch. There was a tablecloth, wine glasses, and actual food, not the mere bread and cheese he normally offered her. He had tried to feed her, tried to TALK to her, like they were FRIENDS. He had called her names, not the ones that she could handle, like Mudblood, or Whore, but sweet names. Love. Sweetheart. Darling. When she had spit out the food and attempted to kick him, he had forced her back onto the table and poured wine down her throat. When she was too drunk to stand, he force fed her, petting her hair and telling her that she was a good girl. When he was finally done with her, and she was once again bound to the wall, she did her best to vomit everything up, screaming at him, cursing his name. She fell asleep with murderous thoughts to keep her company, and awoke to screams that were, for once, not her own. Her head spun from the alcohol still coursing through her system, and she emptied her stomach once more. When she had finished heaving, she listened closely, hoping to hear the screams again, to get a clue as to what was happening at the top of those stone stairs.

Straining her ears, she thought she heard what sounded like her captor dueling someone, but whom? Within seconds, she heard a second voice, this one gloriously familiar. Not Nott, nor another monster, but her savior.

"Harry!" she screamed, hysterical. He had come for her. She wasn't going to die here alone.

She saw him race down the stairs, blasting open the cell door with a flash of light. He strode to her, one hand grabbing her around the waist as his wand released her from her chains. His face contorted into a look that told her just how much physical proof of her torture Nott had left on her body. His vibrant green eyes were wet, his look of shock unavoidable. Carefully, not trusting himself to speak just yet, he reached into his robes and pulled out a vial of liquid. Removing the stopper, he tipped her chin up and lifted the elixir to her lips, letting the warm liquid run down her throat. Slowly she felt strength return to her, and she whimpered into his hand as the potion poured through her veins like fire. Harry put one arm behind her shoulders and another behind her knees, and gently lifted her up. Her head lolled back as he carried her up the stairs. "Hermione, I've got you. We're here, you're safe, hold on," his voice shook, husky and raw.

When she saw Theodore Nott in the room at the top of the stairs, very much alive and bound to a chair, she cried out in fear. His mouth was open but she couldn't hear him – he had been Silencio'd. His eyes locked on to hers as he mouthed the word "Mudblood" and pursed his lips into a kiss. Hermione turned her head, burrowing her face into Harry's neck as she let out a sob.

"It's okay 'Mione, I've got you, he can't hurt you." Harry's words were comforting as he again tried to console her, but his voice betrayed his grief and concern. Her hands grabbed at his back, digging into his shoulders and her body convulsed, unwilling to believe that the torment was truly over. Was he really here? Was Nott messing with her mind again, making her see things that weren't there?  But there, in the corner of the room, his face in his hands, was Ron. Her Ron. He had been waiting for her, guarding Nott, when he saw the frail figure in Harry's arms. 

Hermione gasped his name, her limbs flailing as the potion gave her the strength to throw herself out of Harry's arms and run to the red-haired man. "Ron, oh gods, Ron," she wept as her hands pulled at his arms, begging him to look at her. He slowly allowed his eyes to meet hers, his face wet with grief, his jaw clenched impossibly tight. He reached towards her, pulling her into an embrace. His shoulders shook as his muffled sobs resounded against the stone floor. Hermione didn't know how long they sat there in their sorrow. Suddenly she realized that Harry's hands were rubbing her shoulders, and the room had been dark for at least an hour. Raising her head, she looked in Harry's eyes, and softly asked, "Can we go home now?" He returned her gaze. "Of course. There is the matter of Nott… He needs to be brought back to Headquarters for questioning before he is released to the proper authorities." She nodded, "Of course. The only thing I ask is that I get to interrogate him."

Harry looked at her with a mixture of distress and confusion, "'Mione, I don't think that's a good idea. He's already done you so much harm, I think it would be counter-productive to your recovery for you to even be in the same room as him."

Hermione's eyes quickly turned dark and her posture stiffened. "I will be the one to interrogate him." Harry bit his lip, his eyes questioning, but he nodded once in agreement. Helping his best friends to their feet, Harry shared a quick look with Ron; he knew they were thinking the same thing: how on earth would Hermione ever truly recover from this?


	2. Salt Rose, Topaz

It was dark in the room when Hermione opened her eyes. She looked around warily, taking in the scene. She was lying down in a bed, not chained to a wall. That was a good start. The room was small, the bed linens soft, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she recalled the previous night's events. She was safe, in what appeared to be her third floor bedroom at number 12 Grimmauld Place. The bed creaked as she sat up to stretch her arms. She threw her legs over the side of the bed to stand, only to fall back again on the mattress. Her legs wouldn't hold her weight, which appeared to be much less than when she was first captured, judging from the way her hip bones protruded, visible through her pajama pants. She groaned softly as she laid back down, feeling the staccato beating of her heart. 

Hermione had learned Legilimency and Occlumency at the feet of Remus Lupin, before his untimely death at the Battle of Hogwarts. She learned to fight with fists and speed with Ron and Harry.  When she had quiet moments alone, she had delved into ancient magic, looking everywhere for a clue as to how to defeat Voldemort. It had been over two years of searching. The knowledge she found scared her at times, but she tucked it safely away in her memory, just in case… No one knew the key to the Dark Lord's demise, and she would leave no stone unturned. Number 12 Grimmauld Place carried many books on Dark Magic, books passed down through generations of the Black family, and she devoured them all. No curse was too terrifying to commit to memory; the answers could be in the darkest magic possible, for all they knew. They had destroyed every Horcrux, but when Harry and Voldemort had dueled that fateful day at Hogwarts, both had limped away, injured but very much alive. It had been over a year since that day, a year in which Voldemort had kept himself hidden, sending out raiding parties to do his dirty work.

How many Muggles had been killed since then? The number had to be in the thousands by now, didn't it? She thought back to the incident almost nine months ago at King's Cross Station; the Death Eaters had killed hundreds that day, mostly Muggles. The media blamed it on a terrorist group, which was pretty close to the truth. She cringed, remembering the news reports that had come through the Muggle television located two floors below her. A primary school had 60 children at the train station that day, preparing to embark on a field trip. The footage of the parents, afterward - those children were the reason she fought; the parents, the reason she obsessed over her research. She vowed to avenge their deaths, and the deaths of her friends. For Lupin, Tonks, Fred, Moody, Sirius, and Dumbledore. She would be instrumental in bringing down Voldemort and his followers. 

* * *

A knock on the door brought Hermione back to the present, and she called out permission to enter. A red-haired head poked in the door. "Hey 'Mione. Can I come in? I brought you some food and another strengthening potion." Ron's eyes flitted over her battered frame and his lips moved into what could be construed as a smile, if you didn't know him well. Her eyes softly crinkled at the term of endearment; when he had first called her 'Mione, she had hated it. "It sounds my 'My Only,'" she protested, "what's wrong with my full name?" Ron had grinned, "Maybe that's why I like it," and she hadn't fought the issue since then.

She nodded her assent and sat up, motioning him to sit next to her on the bed. He placed the tray of food he carried on her bedside table next to a worn copy of "Hogwarts, A History." His hand traced over her shoulder as he sat back, his face almost touching hers; he hesitated. "Gods, Hermione… I - I thought I lost you." His voice shook and he closed his eyes, swallowing. "You don't know what that would have done to me. You don't know how much… how much I hoped for this day, to have you back here, safe with me. Just to have another chance…." He slowly brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, swallowing again as he slowly leaned towards her. Softly, so softly, his lips touched hers. He pulled away, tears in his eyes, "You know I love you, right? I know I've never actually said it out loud, but you have to know. You're everything to me." His eyes searched hers, softening as she smiled. "I know," she said, pulling his forehead to her own. Ron shifted his weight, pulling her down with him onto the bed, tucking her body into his in an embrace. She fell asleep listening to the beat of his heart, savoring the rise and fall of his breathing.

* * *

It was another day before Hermione felt strong enough to get out of bed. Ron had relocated himself to her room, sometimes sleeping with her in the small twin bed, other times reclining in a nearby chair. Harry had spent a few hours with her as well, although none of them really felt eager to speak about Hermione's ordeal until she was stronger. Harry had been called away an hour ago to meet with some members of the Order for dueling practice and Occlumency lessons. Ron was currently lying in her bed, napping, his breathing soft and deep. Her eyes rested on his face, and she studied him carefully. He obviously hadn't been too preoccupied with personal hygiene while she had been missing, because his chin was covered in at least two week's growth of red hair. She had never seen Ron with a beard, and she found it made him look rather dashing, if a bit of a ruffian. His forehead was creased with worry, and she carefully rubbed at it with her thumb until he relaxed his features. Better. She recalled his declaration of love, and she smiled. Of course she knew; she had known for quite a while, but it was lovely to hear. For some reason, she hadn't been able to say it back when he said it, but she brushed it off, blaming her current condition.

Ron had changed so much since their school days. He had always been a bit hotheaded, and could be quite insensitive at times. While he still had an inclination towards mischief and could easily be goaded into an argument (especially one concerning the capabilities of the Chudley Cannons), he had matured nicely in the last few years. While he and Hermione still bickered at times, he was quick to apologize for any caustic remarks, and he took criticism in stride.

She softly brushed his hair with her fingertips as she recalled the last few times he had shared her bed. It wasn't that long ago, but those days felt like another lifetime. She had kissed him during the Battle of Hogwarts, and they tried to pursue a relationship in the aftermath. Fred was gone, stolen from them at such a young age, and Ron had despaired. There was so much death, so much to regret. Ron had clung to Hermione, rarely letting her out of his sight for more than a few minutes. Those first few weeks together had been a bittersweet combination of joy and sorrow. When he wasn't reserved and mourning, they were tangled together in a dance of limbs and lips and sweat. It was like nothing Hermione had ever experienced before; he cared for her, yes, wanted her, obviously, but what drew her back time and time again was that he needed her. He needed her touch, her presence grounding him, keeping his desolation at bay. It was a passionate, overwhelming time, and she looked back at it with a mixture of wistful longing and acceptance. It hadn't lasted. The Death Eaters had regrouped, and the raiding parties had once again attacked the countryside, leaving fire and loss in their path. The Trio again took up dueling practice, research, and a vigorous fitness program. Hermione became lost in her books, and Ron became obsessed with the need to avenge his brother's death. Slowly they drifted apart, not noticing the distance.

It had been in the dark hours of the morning, two months after Fred's death, that Hermione found Ron awake in the kitchen, nursing a glass of Firewhiskey. She had sat across from him, taken his hand, and told him that she loved him. She loved him desperately, so much so that it hurt at times. She was so thankful for the time they had been together, so thankful that he was her first, her only true love. "But this is not the time for romance," she had whispered. He looked much older to her then, his face betraying the damage of the last year. "I know." She had reached over, taken a sip of his Firewhiskey, and had grimaced as it warmed its way down her throat. "But after?" he had inquired softly.

"After, if we both make it. If we win this war, we'll be able to make a life together, Ron. I think we'll be able to have our happy ending. But for now we need to be partners in this struggle, you, me, and Harry. We have to be equals, on the same level, and that can't happen if you and I are together. In the middle of battle, I can't put your safety over his. He needs to be the one who lives. He needs to be the one to end this.  But after…"

* * *

She was brought back to the present by him mumbling something in his sleep. She drew back her hand from his face and listened, hoping to get a clue as to what he was dreaming about, but no more words came. She watched his head move on her pillow as he rolled onto his side, his back and feet lightly grazing her. The difference between this day in bed and their previous liaisons was astounding to her. Was she still that girl? She felt empty, weak. When she looked at him now, she felt affection, yes, but also a blankness that threatened to overwhelm. A month and a half of torture. A month and a half with that monster. Could she feel actual joy again, or had it been forever taken from her? Would she wake up one day and be whole? Maybe if they found all the pieces, they could put her back together. Reparo. Does that work on the soul?


	3. The Arrow of Carnations

"Hermione? Hermione, wake up!"

She was on fire. The flames reached up to lick her face, blistering her skin, burning off her eyelashes. She screamed, but no sound came out; all she could hear was the flickering of the flames, the crackling of her flesh as it peeled off, exposing muscle and bone. She shook her head back and forth, willing the flames to subside. This was worse than the Fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement. That fire was alive, yes, and seemed almost sentient, but this… this fire hated her, its only reason for being was to destroy her, leaving ashes in its wake. She felt it enter her mouth; she tried to claw at her face and then realized that her hands were still bound above her head. There was no escape, no release. The putrid stench of burning hair reached her nostrils, filling them.

"Hermione! Wake up!"

She could feel him shaking her. How could he touch her without burning himself? Why would he risk it, what more could he do to her now? Her whole world was fire, her past, present and future composed entirely of flame and cinder. If Harry and Ron ever found her remains, what would they see? One and a half kilograms of ash. Her mother's ring. She had a dental filling when she was younger, before she found out she was a witch. Her parents had been horrified, and she had been more than diligent with her oral hygiene since then. A daughter of two dentists had little to excuse when it came to flossing. Would they find it? Would it burn as well?

Murmuring, then. Where was that coming from? What was Nott playing at? She could almost make out words, but the fire was literally roaring, filling her ears.

"I can't seem to wake her up. Do you think we should try Rennervate?"

"I think I'd prefer to try Aguamenti over Rennervate, if we're not going to let her wake up on her own."

Those voices… they were familiar. Where had she heard them? Was there someone there with Nott?

"OI! HERMIONE! WAKE UP NOW!"

Confusion. Chaos. And fire.

And then, light.

"Ron?" Her voice was gravelly, like she had forgotten how to use it. She slowly opened her eyes, searching for the flames. There. Her friends, alive. She looked down at her arms. Her flesh was whole, pink, not peeling.

It was just a nightmare. The most vivid nightmare she had ever had. She couldn't shake the feeling that maybe THIS was the dream, and the flames were her reality. It didn't really matter, though, if she could stay here. She'd live in this dream, happily.

She was vaguely aware of Harry's arms pulling her into a sitting position, and of Ron taking her pillow as he moved to sit behind her, his legs framing hers, his arms pulling her close to him. She leaned back in to his chest, breathing in his scent, letting it overwhelm the lingering memory of smoke. Harry sat in front of her on the bed, his eyes troubled behind his round spectacles. He absentmindedly touched his scar; was it hurting again? Had Voldemort come out of hiding while she was gone?

"You had a nightmare." It was a statement, not a question. Harry's eyes searched hers as if he could see what she had dreamt if he looked hard enough. She bowed her head, busying her hands on adjusting the quilt wrapped around her legs.

"Yes." A simple reply, delivered without emotion. Hold it together.

"You know, you can talk about it. The nightmares, or... or what happened. Ron and I are both here for you. And if anyone can understand nightmares, Hermione, it's me. Lovely perk of this bloody connection with You-Know-Who."

Ah, so there was still a Taboo on Voldemort's name, then. Good to know. She didn't want to hurt Harry or Ron, but there was no way in hell she was going to let on all that had happened to her. There were still things she didn't want to remember. Some things are better forgotten; if only her dreams would allow her such a courtesy. She very distinctly remembered Nott whisper Flagrate, then held his wand to her face, allowing it burn her flesh. He would heal her, of course. That way he could burn her again, over and over. He never seemed to tire of the smell, or of her screams. He was very dedicated in that way.

"I know. Maybe later. Where is Nott being held?" Keep it short. Keep it surface. Keep yourself together. Her emotions were everywhere. These last few days had been tumultuous to say the least. She was always afraid. Always sure that he could find her again, take her again. And just behind the fear, her hatred. She didn't want to kill Nott, no. She wanted to bleed him dry. Cut him up into tiny pieces, jagged edges, parts that don't fit back together. She wanted to leave him a shell of a man; a spectre, a rotting, living corpse. Rip his soul in half. But Harry and Ron couldn't know of her plans. They had been afraid for her when she first used Crucio. What would they say now? Would they even recognize her?

She tried to recall the girl she was at Hogwarts, before the war. Sure, she still loved to read, still thirsted for knowledge. She was still endlessly dedicated to her friends. She still stood up for Kreacher when Harry or Ron got too cross with the poor house-elf. But she had forgotten what it felt like to be completely content. What was it like to wake up in the morning and feel not an ounce of fear? To not wonder who would die this week? Over the last three years (more, really, but the last three years, definitely) she has slowly lost her innocence. It has slipped through her fingers like sand, but the last month and a half with Nott had finished the job. Happily ever after was a joke. How could good win over evil, if evil was so all-encompassing? How would their world ever be whole again? She has always wanted to get married, start a family. How was that even possible in this reality? The meticulous, cheerful Gryffindor was no more, not really. What was left was this scared, angry woman. There was no good and evil, there was just alive or dead. Winning or losing. How could Ron and Harry not see that? How could they still hold so much hope?

She tried to keep her face blank. "Is he contained?" She didn't like their silence. Ron hadn't said a word since she had awoken, he just held her tightly, his chin on her shoulder, his breath in her ear.

Harry shifted on the bed, running a hand through his hair. "Yes, he's contained. He's here, actually. In the basement; Kreacher moved to the attic while you were... gone. He was Silencio'd after it was obvious he need a few days to get used to his new accommodations. That's why you haven't heard him yet."

In the basement. Next to the kitchen. The kitchen she had finally visited yesterday morning, when she felt up to walking around. She had been that close to her tormentor and not known it. How was that possible?

"Ah." What was there to say? 'Thanks for not telling me a sodding lunatic was next door while I ate my porridge, cheers'?

For a moment no one spoke, and the tension was palpable. Ron's thumbs, which had been tracing patterns on her arms, suddenly stopped.

"When can I begin my interrogation, then?" She did her best to keep her voice even. Her skin was crawling just thinking of that monster three floors below her. Were they feeding him? Probably. Had they roughed him up yet? She hoped so.

Ron finally spoke, "'Mione... are you sure that's what you want to do? We can take care of it, you don't have to see him ever again. We can do this for you. Please." He sounded so worried about her; he didn't need to be. She could do this. She needed this.

"Ron, I have to stand up to him. I have to face him or he'll always be the one in control. I can't let him beat me. He's taken so much of me already, I can't give him this."

Harry nodded his consent. He knew what it meant to face the person who had tried to destroy you. Hermione deserved to take back her power. "How about you take the day to process what you want to ask him, and we'll start tomorrow. I'm going downstairs to owl the rest of the Order. Perhaps they'll have some questions of their own." He stood up and walked to the door, pausing to give Ron a look that obviously conveyed his concern for Hermione.

"We're good, mate. I'll stay here and help 'Mione with her questions," Ron answered, trying to keep his voice casual, but it came out high and false to Hermione's ears. What did he think of her now? Did he see how damaged she was? Did he think she was the same girl he loved?

Hermione wanted to be that girl for him. Maybe she could reclaim what was lost. Maybe they could still be together, after…. He was such a good man, loyal, brave, and he could make her smile. If she could just put this behind her, maybe she'd start to really feel again. Because she could feel his arms around her, but it didn't affect her like it used to do. She didn't expect to be comforted; that was downright impossible at the moment. But where was that other sensation, like her stomach had dropped, her insides warming and melting? She needed to feel that again. She needed to feel like she wouldn't always be empty.

She turned her head, rubbing her cheek against his. She softly kissed his cheek, and waited.

Ron lowered his mouth to her ear, his lips grazing her lobe as his breathing grew deeper. "This might not be a wise idea, but I'm not really sure I care." 

Hermione leaned across Ron to grab her wand off the table, and muttered a quick Imperturbable charm on the door, adding Muffliato for good measure. She then absentmindedly flicked the lights off, leaving the room quite dark, the only glow a small bit of daylight streaming in from the window next the door.

"Are you sure about this?" she breathed into his mouth, not breaking contact, craving his scent in her nostrils, his taste on her lips. "I don't want you to think I'm using you, Ron. If this isn't okay…."

"Merlin, Hermione, I've been waiting bloody forever for you to use me. Now stop talking."

She was always good at following directions, so he shouldn't have been quite so surprised when she suddenly straddled his waist, pushing him down further on the bed. Their coupling had always been sweetly passionate, but this felt different. Hermione's kisses were bruising, her hands clasping his neck and shoulder so tightly that he assumed she'd leave a mark. He trailed soft kisses across her lips, down her neck, and his lips rested at the top of her sternum. His fingers tiptoed down her stomach, and he gently pulled at the hem of her jumper, inching it up her torso. Hermione gasped as she finally grabbed hold of that elusive melting feeling she'd desired so ardently. She felt Ron grin as his mouth followed his fingertips, and his hand was just below her aching breasts when he stopped.

"No! Keep going!" she admonished him, her tone betraying her pent-up frustration.

Ron slowly met her gaze, his face a mask of pain and anger. "Hermione," he growled out, his voice dangerously on edge, "What the fuck is on your stomach?"

She froze. How could she have forgotten?

Ron grabbed her wand and flicked on the light. Hermione's hands rushed to pull down her jumper, but Ron's Keeper reflexes prevailed and he pushed her hands out of the way. The silence was horrible as he stared at her wounds, lightly brushing a fingertip across Nott's name.

He pointed her wand at the door, and wordlessly removed the silencing spells. His jaw was set as he stood up and walked to the door. Turning back, he saw her huddled on the bed, begging him to stay.

"I'm going to kill him. I'm going to slice him top to bottom."

And he intended to keep his promise.


	4. Revelations

Harry was sitting downstairs in the kitchen, nursing a cup of tea when Ron stormed into the room, cursing under his breath. He reached the door to Nott's current prison, and attempted to wrench it open. Failing, he pointed Hermione's wand at it (he was still carrying it, he realized), and shouted, "Alohomora!" It didn't budge, and he kicked at it in anger.

"Harry, open the sodding door!"

"Ron, mate, what happened?"

"Just open the door, damn it!"

"First you tell me what's happening. Now. Sit." He motioned to the bench he was currently occupying.

Ron didn't sit, but paced the length of the kitchen, his hands gripping his hair. "You don't know. You don't know what he did."

"Did Hermione tell you what happened to her?"

"She didn't have to bloody tell me; I saw! He carved his name into her stomach. Autographed his sodding work. I'm going to kill him. Then I'm going to bring him back and I'm going to kill him again."

Harry looked up at him, horrified. He has saw Ron's eyes glittering with unspent tears, and he turned away to give his friend a moment to collect himself. "Ron, I can't let you in there like this. We need information from him; you can't just kill him, I'm sorry. I promised Hermione, and we need to know what You-Know-Who has planned."

"Thank you, Harry." A quiet voice spoke from the stairway, and both boys looked over to see Hermione sitting there, her arms wrapped around her knees. Neither had heard her come in.

"'Mione…" Within seconds Ron was there with her, gathering her up into his arms. He buried his face into her hair as his shoulders began to shake. She absentmindedly brushed his fiery hair as his quiet sobs faded. When he had composed himself, she raised his chin, looking him in the eyes.

"Ron, I think I need to speak to Harry about some things now. Do you mind giving us some time alone?"

"You don't want me here with you?" He looked hurt, confused. The thought of leaving her side at a time like this was heartbreaking. All he wanted was to hold her, willing time to run backwards, until he could go back to the fateful day at Hogwarts and keep her safe.

"I need to speak to Harry about what happened, and I know it seems unfair, but I can't bear for you to hear all of it. I just can't have you look at me after that, Ron, I'm sorry."

He lowered his voice, searching her eyes as he forced out his worst fear, "Hermione… did he… did he touch you? You know what I mean… Gods, I can't even say the word. I will fucking him kill, I will…"

She cut him off, raising her hand to stifle his threats. "No, Ron. He did unspeakable things, but he didn't do that. I promise you. Okay? I promise."

His eyes watered again, and he lifted his hand to brush angrily at his eyes. "Thank Godric. Oh 'Mione, I don't know what I would have done…" He shuddered, and was silent.

"I know. I know."

He moved to stand. "If it's really what you want, then I'll leave you two alone. I'm just so thankful you're back here safe and sound."

She smiled at him, and reached to squeeze his hand. She couldn't help but think that she was safe, but certainly not sound. She would never be the same girl he fell in love with, but she couldn't tell him that now.

He'd find out soon enough.

* * *

It was just her and Harry then, and she moved to sit across from him at the kitchen table. He stood to grab a mug from the cupboard and set about making her a cup of tea just the way she liked it. She smiled at the ritual, feeling comforted by how well he knew her. She and Ron had always been the ones to bicker, but Harry was her rock. Of course, Ron was the one she had fallen in love with, but Harry would forever be her best friend. She trusted him implicitly. Watching him make her a cuppa reminded her of home, and it settled her.

He poured her tea, adding milk and just a bit of sugar, and handed it to her. It was then that he met her gaze, and she was overcome by the grief that saturated his green eyes.

"Hermione," he started, and paused. "What you told Ron; was that the truth, or were you protecting him? I need you to be honest with me."

"It was the truth. Nott did terrible, terrible things," she shuttered at his name, "but he didn't rape me. In a sick way, I almost wish that's all he had done; it would have been simpler. But no, he didn't do that." She looked away. "I want to tell you what happened. I know you need to know, if only so you stop wondering, but I'm not sure I can say all of it out loud. I'll try, though, alright?"

"That's all I ask."

She sipped her drink, unsure of how to start. How do you have this conversation with your best friend? A snort escaped her, and Harry look at her, confused. "I'm sorry, I just realized how ludicrous this is; never in a million years did I expect that I'd be sitting with you here, nursing a cup of tea, about to tell you how a classmate of ours kidnapped and tortured me for a month and half." She laughed bitterly.

"I know. Conversations like this shouldn't be allowed to exist." He looked puzzled for a moment, and she asked what he was thinking about.

"It's just that I never really knew Theo Nott that well. I think I was partnered with him in Potions once or twice, but our interactions were sparse, to the say the least. Still, I never thought him capable of such wickedness. I knew his dad was a Death Eater, but I wouldn't have expected it from him. Malfoy, maybe…"

She shook her head. "I'm not sure what happened to him that made him the way he is now, but I wouldn't have expected it either, Harry. And honestly, I wouldn't expect it from Malfoy. I know neither of us have any good feelings to spare him, but I don't think he has that kind of cruelty in him. He couldn't kill Dumbledore; I'm don't think he could have done what Nott did to me. Then again, I'm learning all sorts of new and interesting things about our Slytherin classmates, so maybe I'm just being naïve."

She looked over at the door then, realizing that Nott was just behind that wall. "Can he hear us? I know we can't hear him…"

"No," Harry said firmly. "It's just you and me, now."

Her eyes didn't leave the door as she pondered what to say; she didn't want him to know all of it, it was too ghastly. But she could give him a few specifics, things that he had most likely already guessed at.

"The first thing I remember was the pain. It was everywhere, I couldn't even tell what hurt, what was part of my body and what was outside of it. It was the Cruciatus Curse, of course, but it was the worse than any of the other ones I'd felt. He must really hate me to manage a curse that strong. I passed out, and when I woke up my ribs were broken and my eye was swollen shut. I think he must have punched and kicked me or something, because it didn't seem magical. What I mean to say is that I had bruises and the like. He burnt me, too, but you probably guessed that from my nightmare."

"You were screaming something about flames, yeah."

"He would set me on fire, then heal me, just to do it again. So. Erm…. He cut me up. It wasn't Sectumsempra, the cuts weren't as deep, but it was excruciating. I heard Ron tell you about it, so…." She lifted up her shirt, showing him the scars. "Guess he didn't feel the need to use any Dittany." She tried to smile wryly, but it was more of a grimace.

"Gods, Hermione! No wonder Ron was ready to murder him!" Harry walked around the table to kneel in front her. His fingertips smoothed over the scars, and he looked troubled. "I'm not sure that we'll able to get rid of all the scarring, but I think we can fade them a bit." He looked uncertain.

"That's really the least of my worries right now, but thank you, Harry." She squeezed his hand, acknowledging his concern. "So, um, yeah, it was a lot of that sort, I guess. So. Now you know." She looked down at her hands, afraid he'd guess she was holding back.

"So… that's it, then? Forty-seven days and it was just the same stuff, repeated?" He wasn't buying it.

"I'm sorry, isn't that enough? It certainly felt like enough at the time."

"Hermione, you know what I mean. I'm not trying to dismiss what happened to you in any way. It's just that, when we saw you… it seemed… well it seemed like he had done much more than that. Like it was more than physical, I suppose."

"Well, technically the Cruciatus Curse isn't physical; it's in your head, sort of, isn't it? But, um, yeah. I mean, that's all I remember." She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the cross-examination.

"Hermione, I need to know everything. We need to know what kind of magic we're up against. I'm sure Nott was acting on Voldemort's orders, and if they have new weapons in their arsenal that we don't know about, we're even worse off than we thought."

"I don't know what to say. That's all I can tell you." She kept her voice steady, her eyes betraying nothing.

"Legilimens."

She gasped at the invasion. She didn't have time to set up her blocks, and Harry was a much better Legilimens and Occlumens than he was while at Hogwarts. After Snape died, and they found out the truth about his loyalties, she, Harrry, and Ron had all committed themselves to the practices. Normally she could hold her own at Occlumency, but she wasn't prepared this time, and it showed. Harry hadn't used a wand, and that had given him a leg up on her. Visions of the past seven weeks flashed through her mind. She tried to block him out, tried to hide the worst of it, but he was stronger than she. Once again she relieved the torture, felt the fear, the hatred. Worst of all, she felt her own weakness. After the first few days with Nott, she wasn't even able to fight back; he was too strong, too unstoppable. She saw his mind games again, the tricks he played on her. Once again, she saw Harry felled by the Dark Lord. Once again, she saw Ron die in her arms as she rocked his lifeless body. Once again, she saw her parents hunted down and killed, their bodies left on display for all other Muggleborns to see. Once again, she howled in misery as the darkness threatened to overwhelm her.

Harry saw everything. The physical torment, some of which she had mentioned, but also the mental and the emotional. Nott's depraved words, Hermione's sunken eyes, her pleads for death. He could feel the reverberations of the Dark Magic used on his friend. He shook as he watched her worst memories, her undoing. He relived every single one of those forty-seven days; saw the fire leave her eyes as she finally shut down. He watched her spirit break. And it destroyed him to know that he was forcing her to live it all, again, with him. He pulled back, and realized he had been screaming. The silence that followed was thick.

"'Mione, I'm so…"

"STOP! You don't get to say anything. You don't get to say a single fucking word, Harry. Not after that. You violated my MIND! Nott beat you there, but you… you're supposed to be my FRIEND. No, you don't get to touch me ever again. And you don't get to call me that name. I will interrogate the prisoner on my own, do you understand? I can't stand being in the same house with you, much less the same room." She grabbed her wand from the table, where Ron had left it only minutes before, and held it to his throat, daring him to speak.

For the second time that day, she saw one of her best friends reduced to tears. But this time she couldn't bring herself to care.

"I'll let you know anything I glean from Nott, but that's it, Harry. You and me… I don't know. I certainly can't trust you now. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to trust you." His eyes were pleading, but he remained silent. "Give me the password, then. I'm dealing with Nott now." Her wand was still raised as she waited for his response.

He hung his head in surrender. She waited, feeling her rage ebb. No, that wouldn't do.

"Tell me, Harry. Now." She bit out the words, holding onto her fury. She would need it for what happened next.

He didn't look up as he whispered the code word.

"Family."

Once again, she felt her anger subside, felt her grief rushing in.

No.

Hold it together.

She faced the door, spoke the word, and stepped inside.

It was dark in the room, save for a small ball of light next to the door. She pointed at it and it glowed brighter, casting shadows around her. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw him. Theo Nott, tied to a chair. Her captor captured, helpless before her. There was a moment of cognitive dissonance, just the smallest hesitation. And then she remembered her promise of revenge.

A slow smile spread across her face.

This was going to be fun.


	5. When She was Bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N – Just to warn you, this chapter features torture.

Hermione smiled. Theodore Nott was tied to a chair, Silencio'd, and she was free to do with him as she pleased. She could barely believe it; she was here, their positions reversed. She let a small, very un-Hermione-like giggle burst forth from that ever-building bundle of anxiety and fear that had taken residence behind her ribcage. Oh yes, this was definitely going to be fun.

He looked small to her, then, bond and magically gagged. Theodore Nott. He had seemed bigger, somehow, when he had his hands on her, breaking her. He had seemed like a behemoth, obscuring the outside world with his brutality.

And now he was right there in front of her, practically served on a silver platter.

Flicking her wand at the door, she added another locking spell. She didn't think Harry would come in after her, but she didn't want to risk it. Better safe than sorry.

She walked towards him, and then hesitated. She wanted to make sure there was no way he could attack her. She was being foolish, of course, she realized this. He was bound by Incarcerous; there was no way he was getting out of those snares. But, just to make sure…

"Crucio!"

His eyes rolled to the back of his skull as his muscles clenched involuntarily. He didn't open his mouth, didn't even let out a sigh. Hermione frowned. That wouldn't do, not at all. She knew it was wrong of her to want such a thing, but she needed his screams. She removed the silencing charm.

"Crucio!"

A whimper.

What was happening? She certainly meant the curse, so it couldn't be that.

A soft laugh.

She froze. Nott was laughing at her? After she had used the Cruciatus Curse? How was that even possible?

His eyes rolled back in place. Hermione wasn't sure if it was a trick of the light, but they looked even more crazed than they had been a moment ago. A slow smile spread across his face, stretching his features into a horrifying caricature of happiness.

"There's my pretty little Mudblood. I knew you couldn't stay away for long; missed me, did you love? Wanted to get in some quality time, yeah?"

He sneered at her, running his tongue across his bottom lip. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and she felt her courage wavering. Whether or not what she had planned for Nott was right, she was a Gryffindor through and through. She wouldn't back down from him now, not when he was subdued. His words taunted, but he couldn't physically harm her. Wandless magic doesn't work well when your hands are bound.

The thought gave her an extra measure of comfort, and she approached him again with renewed rage boiling in her veins.

"Quality time… that's an interesting way to put it. In the interest of full disclosure, ('not that you deserve it, you malevolent pile of rubbish,' she muttered disdainfully) I should tell you that I do plan on spending a fair amount of time with you, Theo. I am going to get information out of you one way or another. I don't plan on holding back; you'll find that Harry's sensibilities differ from mine in this regard." Her voice took that same scholarly tone that Harry and Ron would have recognized from their days at Hogwarts. "It is interesting to note that the Cruciatus Curse doesn't seem to affect you in the customary way. I can only deduce that you have been exposed to it so many times that you've learned how to handle the pain. That really is quite unfortunate, because I had been greatly looking forward to refining my hatred in order to make for a truly miserable experience. For you, that is. I had planned on enjoying your torment."

She slowly walked circles around his chair, her left hand pulling on a coffee colored curl, her lips pursed in contemplation. "Cruciatus Curse doesn't do anything," she mumbled, "So what wouldn't have been tested? What has he not built up immunity to, I wonder?" In her right hand, her wand tapped against her leg, throwing out small sparks as she continued her percussion.

"Ahhh, well. If you're so used to Dark curses, perhaps we can try something a little bit Lighter. I think I can still have fun with this."

His eyes betrayed nothing, but she saw the involuntary swallow he allowed himself. Yes, she was definitely on the right track.

Raising her wand, she transfigured the chair he sat on into a table. His hands and feet were now so bound that his body made a sort of X. She watched him, waiting for a response to this new situation. He gave her none, and she shrugged noncommittally.

She leaned over so he could see her face directly above hers. "I don't think you're going to like this, Theo. But I will." With one hand she grabbed his jaw, forcing his mouth open as she calmly cast the spell.

"Aguamenti."

He sputtered and attempted to thrash about but Hermione held him still, forcing the water down his throat. After a few minutes she stopped, and she allowed his bonds to loosen so he could roll onto his side, retching.

"Anything you feel like telling me, Theo? Perhaps what your Dark Lord has planned? Where exactly is the coward hiding? Or, if you just want to talk, you can tell me how it feels being helpless at the hands of a Mudblood."

Nott growled at her, baring his teeth.

"Nothing? Hmm. Okay. I'm actually quite enjoying this. So please, let's continue, if you're so willing."

She looked around the room, and her eyes fell on the blanket resting in the corner. She snorted with derision; had Potter actually given him a blanket to use? In case poor ickle Nott got cold in the basement? It was too much. She walked over to it, and transfigured it into a towel. Better.

She moved to stand behind his head so that he was unable to see her from his vantage point. She lowered her mouth to his ear as she dug her wand into his carotid artery. "I just want you to know, Nott, that I don't typically condone this sort of behavior. This particular form of punishment has been used by Muggles since before the Spanish Inquisition, not that that term means anything to you. It's disgusting, and inhumane, and I would normally abhor such treatment to any creature, human or non-human. However," she paused, letting her tone turn icy, "I don't believe you should be privy to the same rights as other men, or house-elves, or even rats. No, you're of a different sort; you're made of nothing but bad intentions and false beliefs. You have no heart, no soul, and therefore I have no moral qualms about introducing you to the horror that is waterboarding."

She threw the towel over his head and let it cover his eyes. Raising her wand, she again said the incantation.

"Aguamenti!"

Hermione watched the towel turn dark with water, and smiled as the cloth covering Nott's nose and mouth was drawn in as he tried to breathe. Yes, she was morally opposed to this form of torture; so much so that she had actually participated in a peace rally decrying such methods the summer before her sixth year at Hogwarts. She had actually watched a demonstration of the torture strategy and cried, unable to look away. She felt sick to her stomach for days later, remembering the terror on the man's face when the towel was finally ripped away. He had lasted twenty-eight seconds before it was too much, and those twenty-eight seconds felt like a lifetime.

She had already been at this for thirty seconds, and she didn't plan on stopping soon.

'He feels like he's drowning,' she thought to herself.

'He feels like I'm killing him.'

She let the water flow.

* * *

Hermione became aware of the passage of time when her stomach started to rumble. Ron had brought her a snack earlier in the day, when she had awoken from the terrible nightmare. Was it really the same day? It felt like weeks ago that she had kissed him, when they'd almost made love. It had only been, what, eight or nine hours? She didn't dare risk leaving the room, however; what if Harry or Ron tried to stop her from questioning Nott? Not that she was doing much questioning... she had really just been trying to wreak havoc on his mind. He had passed out a number of times by now, and she knew he would start to hallucinate soon if she didn't relent on the waterboarding.

She grabbed the towel from his face, grimacing at the skin below it. It was pale and bloated; in fact, his whole body seemed quite bloated. He'd ingested mass amounts of water, and she worried for a moment that he may die of water-poisoning before she could get any information out of him.

She again transfigured the table into a chair so he could sit up straight. His eyes were closed, and she wasn't entirely sure that he was conscious. She waited a minute, and then became impatient. "Crucio." She realized that she had sounded almost bored while muttering the incantation; she certainly hadn't put any heart in it, but it wouldn't exactly tickle either way. No matter, it had served a function, as he was now looking at her. At least, she supposed he was attempting to look at her; his eyes went this way and that, unfocused.

"Nott!" she hissed. "Wake up. Tell me what I need to know."

Again he said nothing, holding his secrets safe within him.

She had thought that this demonstration of her power would bring her peace, or happiness, at the least. It didn't seem to provide either; she felt just as dead inside. Oh, it had provided a momentary distraction, that was certain. But now she was quickly losing her enthusiasm.

"Nott! Look at me you spineless piece of garbage. Tell me what I need to know. Where is He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Where are the rest of the Death Eaters? What do they have planned? How do we defeat him?"

He didn't answer her. She had a feeling, though, that he was slipping. His eyes had lost their wild mask, and his hands were slack. His brown hair was matted to his head from water and sweat. When he finally spoke, it was without conviction or malice.

"What more can you do to me, Mudblood? Just get it over with and kill me."

"Not before you give me what I need, Theo. You spent quite a long time breaking me; I would be remiss if I didn't return the favor."

His eyes rolled into the back of his head once more, and he was silent.

She paced the floor of the small room, wearing a path into the rug. How could she get the information from him? How could she break him? The water torture should have been enough. He was obviously feeling the repercussions of such activities, but he still wasn't talking.

She sunk to the floor and crossed her legs, resting her elbows on her knees. Her fingertips braced her forehead and she tried to formulate a strategy. Ron was good at strategy. All those years playing Wizard's Chess had honed the skill until he was able to see five to seven moves ahead of his opponent when he really put his mind to it. Harry was the leader, that much was obvious. Everyone seemed to assume that Hermione was the obvious brains of the group, which was true to an extent. Hermione provided all the intelligence necessary to plan and to lead. But it was Ron who had risen to a position of authority when it came to strategy and planning. She breathed in deeply and did her best to think like Ron; what would her enemy expect? What would catch him off guard?

She needed him to tell her what she needed to know. She had considered Veritaserum, but she knew that it didn't always work if the intended was a proficient Occlumens. Most Death Eaters were accomplished Occlumens, so she supposed that Nott was as well. That ruled out Veritaserum and Legilimency. She furrowed her brow, considering her next move.

Veritaserum wouldn't work. Legilimency wouldn't work. Torture seemed to weaken him, but it hadn't made him talk, yet.

She felt the answer was hovering just above her head, begging her to grab it.

What if there wasn't one right answer? What if she needed to use more than one piece of magic?

First, Veritaserum. Of course that required that she had the potion on hand... She remembered that there had been some in the second floor cabinet months ago. Could it still be there?

She called for Kreacher, hoping he could Apparate into the locked room. A moment later he appeared with a crack.

"Kreacher, can you retrieve me the vial of Truth Serum located in the cabinet on the second floor? And can you make sure that no one sees what you are doing?"

The house-elf agreed, and the sound of him Disapparating echoed against the walls of the small room.

Within a minute he was back with the potion. She dismissed him, thanking him for his discretion.

Nott still appeared to be unconscious, but she couldn't be sure. She tipped his head back and opened his mouth. She placed three drops of the serum on his tongue and closed his mouth again. He still did not open his eyes. She slapped him across the face, hard. Nothing. Again. Nothing. She remembered back to the last time she saw Nott, and her broken ribs. She kicked him hard in the stomach. His eyes flew open and he gagged on the water rushing out of his open mouth.

"Good, you're awake. What's your name?"

"Theodore Nott."

"Are you a Death Eater?"

"Yes."

"Where is Voldemort hiding?"

She saw him fighting the potion, watched his face contort as he tried valiantly not to tell her the truth. In the end, he won.

Well. She didn't expect it to work.

On to step two.

She looked him in the eyes, pointed her wand at him, and spoke the words.

"Legilimens."

She was in. She could feel his walls go up, pushing back at her. She pushed back harder, seeking out his secrets. He grunted in pain as she concentrated on the information she needed.

She caught a glimpse of him walking down a hallway. To his right was another taller figure wearing a Death Eater mask. He held a finger to his mouth, cautioning silence. She watched them slip through a doorway. The taller man removed his mask and she gasped at her sudden recollection.

Draco Malfoy.

She felt Nott pushing her out. She tried desperately to hold on to the scene; she knew he didn't want her to see it, so it must have been important. He won, though, and she was thrown from his mind.

He smirked at her, a crease in his forehead the only thing betraying the pain he had been experiencing as she dug into his psyche. She watched as he shrugged it off again, and his eyes regained their feral quality. "Think you're clever, don't you? This mind is mine, you whore. Stay out."

"Legilimens!"

Again, she was thrown out. She raised her hands in desperation. He should be weaker! He should be near death! What was happening? He was obviously feeling the effects of her magic; his head was down, and he wouldn't meet her gaze.

"Please. Stop."

A whimper.

Well, that was new.

She made up her mind then. She'd use whatever weapons she had to get to him.

Hermione grabbed Nott's face and held her wand to his temple.

"Imperio!"

And then

"Legilimens!"

She was in. She could feel the effects of the Imperius Curse on him. His mind felt heavier, calmer. Looking around, she saw a mist. She needed his clarity. Thinking hard, she commanded him. 'Tell me what I need to see.'

She was back in the hallway, walking with Draco and Nott. They entered the room, Malfoy took off his mask. She had to strain her ears to hear their hushed voices.

Malfoy lifted his wand. "Muffliato." He moved behind Nott, flicking his wand at the door to ensure it was properly locked. "Theo, it has to be tonight. You don't know what he's asking of me now. He wants me to capture the Mudblood, Granger. He wants me to keep her locked up until he's ready for her. He has terrible things planned. She can't be allowed to live; he feels that she's getting too close to something. I can't do this anymore! We need to leave tonight, within the hour."

She watched Nott's face as she processed the words. His eyes were glistening and his hands were clenched furiously. He opened his mouth to speak and thought better of it.

"I've made all the arrangements, but we need to leave, Theo! He's got something in the works, I can feel it. Tonight may be the last night we have a chance, we HAVE to take it!"

Hermione watched memory-Theo's face grow tight. "I can't go with you Draco. He knows. He knows about Astoria, and if I leave, he'll hunt her down and kill her. I thought I could protect her but he broke down my blocks. He knows, and he'll use that knowledge against me. I can't leave. I'd rather die than see harm come to her. I love her."

Draco punched the wall, thankful the sound couldn't carry. "You won't be the only one to die, Nott! He will give you this task. You'll be the one to hunt down Granger; you'll be the one to capture, torture and rape her. You'll be the one who hands over the one person who could very well be the key to the Dark Lord's demise. What will happen to Astoria if he wins? When he takes over? Do you think he'll let you be with her just because you played his faithful servant for so long? He won't! He's terrified of anything that's true and good, and he won't let you be together. Come with me! We'll take Astoria and escape, leave the country."

Theo look at him then, his soft brown eyes sad. "What if it was your mum, Draco? What if you could save her?"

He shook his head. "It's not my mum. She's gone, Nott. He killed her while I watched. He'll do the same to Astoria if you don't leave now. Who knows, he may kill her either way, but at least if we run, you can show her that you chose to live outside of his grasp. You chose to be a better man."

"I can't do it. I'm sorry. I can't take the risk, mate. She's the closest thing I've ever had to family. She's my truth."

Draco ran his hands through his white-blonde hair. "Tell me where she is and I'll keep her safe for you. After this is over, we'll find you. We'll find you and you can be with her."

The vision faded. Another replaced it. She saw this memory through Nott's eyes. He was looking down at the floor, and it felt like he was kneeling. She heard a sound and wished Nott would look up. He/she felt a hand on his/her shoulder. Nott's eyes wandered up over black robes, and he/she saw a corpse-like hand reaching for his/her shoulder. His voice was awful. And then he/she saw those terrifying, snakelike eyes. Wild, feral eyes.

"You will do many great things for me, Mr. Nott. You will be my vessel. You will be my weapon against her, and we will bring her to her knees. You shall be rewarded greatly in my new world."

She felt his repulsion, his fear. She heard his voice speak through her mouth.

"Yes, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord."

"Imperio!"

Hermione gasped as she let go of Nott's memories. She was back in the small room, and he was still tied to the chair. His head hung low, and she heard what sounded like moaning. She knelt in front of him and watched as tears streaked his pale skin.

"Please... please..."

His voice was a whimper, his eyes pleading.

"Please, Hermione. Please forgive me. I was too weak. I couldn't risk her. I couldn't leave. I'm so, so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

Her hands flew to her face as she saw Theo Nott for the first time since her sixth year at Hogwarts. This was the boy from her Potions class, soft-spoken. Intelligent. Not a monster. His eyes regained the softness she had seen from his memory. The monstrous quality she was so familiar with was gone.

"No! No, please, no. Theo..." She was horrified; this was so far beyond what she could adequately deal with right now. She saw the puzzle pieces coming together, but she couldn't grasp the bigger picture. What was happening? Her mind refused to acknowledge the revelations from the last five minutes.

He shook his head, spraying water droplets with the movement. "Hermione, I need you to listen to me. I don't have long, please. There are things I need to tell you. I..." He choked, spurting out water with every breath. "Can't... can't tell you. He won't... won't let me. Please. Use the Imperius Curse, now! I can only fight him for so long."

At that moment she understood that her Imperius Curse was fighting with the one Voldemort had placed on him all those weeks ago. She was winning for the time being, as proximity and eye contact strengthened the power of the curse. She couldn't wait for the Dark Lord to regain the upper hand; if she was to learn anything more, she needed to act now.

"Imperio!"

This time was different. She experienced flashes, bits of pictures.

A manor on a hill. A grand ballroom. A painting on the mantle. A painting of Theodore Nott as a young child, his father and mother standing behind him. The Dark Lord reclining in the middle of the room on a throne. She saw herself, chained to a wall, Nott's hands on her. She heard the Dark Lord's voice in his mind, commanding terrible things, things he was strong enough to refuse to do to the woman in front of him. She felt the pain that coursed through him at the moment of his refusal. And then, the scene changed, and he was standing in front of a beautiful blonde girl, and they were on a snowy street, not a prison cell. She recognized the place; Hogsmeade. He reached for the girl, and she saw them embrace, and then kiss. She heard him whisper that he'd keep her safe. "I love you, Astoria." A cottage hidden in the middle of a forest. He walked to the door and threw it open as the young woman ran to him. She felt the utter contentment in his heart. His heart, which wasn't evil, or full of bad intentions. His heart, which was set on protecting the woman in his arms.

She fell to the ground, the connection broken. She had the information she needed. Voldemort and the Death Eaters were at the Nott mansion. The Order had searched it in the past, but they had either missed something or this was a new location for the Dark Lord. She saw Astoria Greengrass, a Slytherin two years below her. If she hadn't heard the girl's first name, she probably wouldn't have known who it was; she'd never spoken to the pureblood girl. But now she knew that this girl was worth everything to Theo, and Hermione knew where she was hiding. She could find the young woman.

His eyes met hers, and she could see him struggle with Voldemort's Imperius Curse. He was in more pain now than he had been all day. She felt the bile rise in her throat as she remembered all she had done to Nott in the past ten hours. He had been a good man, not innocent, but good. And she had treated him like garbage. She had reveled in his agony, wished for his death. She thought she had been talking to him, hurting him, but it had been Voldemort in her company all along.

"Hermione. Please. Find her for me. Keep her safe."

She nodded. Her hands wouldn't move. She felt a tremor overtake her. She couldn't get oxygen to her lungs fast enough.

"Granger... it's okay. It's okay. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." His eyes rolled back into his skull and she saw his body jerk as he struggled to hold on to consciousness.

"Shhhh, Theo, be quiet, save your strength. Stay with me, and we'll both find Astoria. Just stay with me." Her body was shaking heavily now. She wrapped her arms around her; when has she regained the use of her hands? She was so cold…

"Can't... He's... he's killing me... I can feel it. I can feel my organs shutting down. Please. Please promise me." Water continued to pour out of his mouth, tinged with red.

"I promise! I promise I'll find her! Stay with me!" She released him from his bonds and whimpered as his body gave out. She grabbed his limp frame as he fell to the floor. She flung her wand at the door.

"Finite Incantatem! Alohomora!"

She dragged in a breath.

"HARRY! RON! HELP ME!"

She heard them scramble to the door; they must have been sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for her. They ran to her side, taking in the scene, trying to figure out what was happening, what they could do to help.

But it was too late.

Theodore Nott had passed through the Veil.


	6. Repercussions

"Hermione? Hermione!"

Someone was shaking her.

"I think she's in shock."

She could hear Harry's voice, now. She opened her eyes but couldn't focus them; when had she shut them?

"'Mione, pet, I need you to look at me. Come on…" That was Ron. She knew that, at least. The whole world was spinning. She tried to sit up but her body wouldn't work.

"Rugh.. uh.. Ron?" Someone had filled her mouth with cotton; who would do that? She frowned.

"Mione, you're okay, we're here with you. Harry and I are right here, we've got you."

The world was still spinning, but slower, now. That was something, yeah? She saw red hair. Blue eyes. Then, off to her right - black hair. Green eyes. Her boys.

How many times had they rescued her, now? Too many times. She found that she was getting quite tired of being the victim.

Her thoughts were interrupted as she felt Ron's arms snake behind her back to pull her into a sitting position. Her body would still not cooperate, though, and she collapsed.

"Damn it," he muttered, moving her so she could lean against the wall. She looked around, realizing where she was; she was still in the room. Her eyes raked over the floor, and she gasped as she saw the body of Theo Nott laying there, his eyes open. Dead.

She closed her eyes, praying for unconsciousness. She couldn't be here, she couldn't be dealing with the aftermath of what had to be the worst thing she'd ever done. The worst thing she could ever do, period. Nott was dead, and it was her fault. Harry and Ron would know, they would see through her and then they would know.

Oh gods. Ron. How could she face him? She knew they couldn't be together, had known it since she'd been rescued from Nott. 'No,' she corrected herself, 'Voldemort. It wasn't Nott. Theo wouldn't do those things on his own.' She had known, even then, that she'd never be able to be the woman that Ron needed. But now, after what she had done, after the brutality she'd allowed herself… there was no looking back.

Hermione had told herself that she would let him down easy, explain it to him. But that wasn't necessary now, was it? There was no way he'd be able to look her in the eye after this; he'd see exactly what she had done, exactly who she had become, and he'd never be able to forgive her.

She shut her eyes against the light in the room. He must know by now. There was the evidence lying on the floor, puddled in water and blood. Theo had been alive when she walked in the room, and now he was dead.

"I'm going to be sick," she muttered, turning her head to the side just in time. She heard one of the boys shuffling about, heard a murmured incantation.

"Aguamenti."

"NO!" Not that spell. No.

Theo drowning. Water leaking from his mouth, his nose, his eyes.

"It's alright, Hermione, I was just going to wipe your face, that's all." Ron looked at her, baffled. He was kneeling next to her, and in his hand he held a wet towel.

"NO! No! No, no no no no…" She was shaking again, rocking back and forth on the floor. "Please, no. No."

Ron shared a look of confusion with Harry. What was going on?

Hermione scrambled to her hands and feet, crawling to the door. She needed to get out of this room, now. She needed to get as far away from here as possible.

"Hermione! Stop, please." She was backing away from them now, her face contorted in fear and grief.

"Hermione, what happened? It's just us, he can't hurt you anymore. What happened?" She moved towards the kitchen table and pulled herself onto the bench. They thought she was afraid of them? They should be afraid of her. They had no idea, absolutely none. She had to tell them. Do it fast, like ripping off a bandage. The sooner they knew everything, the sooner they'd want her out of their sight. She'd be free to… to what? To leave? Where exactly? She'd lived at Grimmauld Place for long enough that it almost felt like a home, if you could overlook the angry portraits and the dust and the evil books in the library. Her parents were still in Australia and had no idea that she even existed. There was no way she'd be welcomed at the Burrow, not after this. She'd have no one. No friends, no family. Nowhere to go.

No use delaying the inevitable, though.

"I killed him."

She hated the way her voice sounded, then. The words had come out shaky and whispered. She wasn't looking for sympathy, she was just telling the truth.

It was Harry who spoke first. "Hermione, there's just no way… I don't believe it for a second. Tell us exactly what happened." He was too good for her, too trusting.

She drew in a breath, and told them everything. How evil Nott had seemed, the things he had said to her. Her thwarted attempt at the Cruciatus curse. The water torture. She kept her head down, her voice even, as she explained the procedure for waterboarding. She didn't have to see their faces to gauge their reactions; she could hear the gasps, the sickened moans. They should have made her hesitate, but they spurred her on. They needed to know the truth, every bit. She wouldn't hold back.

She explained that he wouldn't give her anything, not after hours and hours of anguish. "So I tried something else. I combined Veritaserum, and Legilimency. I was able to get a glimpse of a memory that he didn't want me to see, but he blocked me. So I used the Imperius Curse on him, and forced him to show me what I wanted through Legilimency." She looked Harry in the eye, daring him to tell her it wasn't her fault.

"I saw him talking to Draco Malfoy, and they were discussing the Dark Lord's plans for my capture. Malfoy tried to get Theo to escape with him; apparently neither of them fully supported You-Know-Who, but…." This is where things got difficult. "But Theo refused to leave. He was in love with Astoria Greengrass, and he believed as long as he served that monster that Astoria would be safe."

"Hermione, that doesn't excuse what happened. The things he did to you, no good person could do that sort of thing!" Harry's eyes were watery, imploring her to understand. She did.

"No. It doesn't excuse what happened, if it was Theo who did those things." Her voice lowered to a whisper, "But he didn't. Draco escaped, and You-Know-Who placed Nott under the Imperius Curse. It wasn't Theo who did those things to me, it was Him. I heard Him, Harry. I heard Him in Theo's mind, telling him to do everything that he did, and worse. He would have had Theo rape me, defile me. But Theo refused, even while under the curse. He may have been on the wrong side, but he was a good man."

She looked across the table at Ron, and the devastation she saw on his face broke her heart in two. She had thought it already broken, and was surprised at the new pain that flooded her chest. She locked eyes with him, daring him to forgive her. "He was just trying to protect the girl he loved, no matter what. And I killed him." Twist the knife a little deeper. Make sure he knows exactly who it is he's looking at. A murderer.

She continued. "They're at the Nott Manor; that's You-Know-Who's most recent headquarters, apparently. They will most likely be expecting us, but I still think we need to move as soon as possible. I saw Draco and Nott discussing something I don't understand, though. You-Know-Who thinks I was onto something, and that's why they took me. I think they were hoping to get the location here, as well, but I'm not a Secret Keeper, thankfully. I wouldn't have been able to find out their location if Theo hadn't have been clever. He allowed me to see his family portrait hanging behind You-Know-Who; I don't think he would have been able to actually tell me where they were hiding. Luckily we've searched the grounds before, so we know where it is."

"I also know where Astoria is hiding. I…" Her voice was hoarse from holding back tears. "I promised him that we'd find her, and keep her safe. She's staying at a cottage in the woods outside of Hogsmeade. Malfoy should be there, too. We need to get them out of the country."

Now came the hardest part.

"He resisted the Dark Lord's Imperius Curse long enough to show me what I needed to know, and to make sure that the woman he loved was safe. I tried to save him," her voice cracked as tears cascaded down her face, "but it was too late. He was too weak from… from everything beforehand. He kept fighting the curse, I could see it, but he just wasn't strong enough. He was already close to death, but when he slipped under the curse again… I think You-Know-Who must have forced his organs to stop working, somehow. He was there one minute, and the next… he was just gone. And you can tell me that I didn't kill him, that it was the Dark Lord, but we all know what happened. I brought him to the edge of death; I didn't push him over the cliff, but I might as well have done just that. It's my fault he's gone. I'm the only one to blame."

* * *

It felt like hours of silence, stretching into forever. Harry was pacing the room, his hands pulling at his hair. Ron hadn't moved from the bench across from her. His head was in his hands, and his shoulders would shake now and then. She wished she could reach across the table and comfort him like she had been able to do in the past, but that was impossible now. She was the reason for his grief, his horror. The blankness that had haunted her the past three days had dissipated, and she hated it. She wanted the numbness back. She felt everything now, and it was too much. Looking across the table at Ron, she was flooded with the realization that she still loved him desperately, but she had ruined everything, forever. She'd never feel his hand in hers, never taste his kiss again. She'd never share his bed again, falling asleep in his strong arms and awaking to his weight against her back. All those dreams were fading as fast as she tried to grasp at them. No curly-haired ginger toddlers. No Sunday dinners at the Burrow. No growing old with her first love, their family surrounding them. It was all she had ever wanted, this man in front of her. He had been her friend first, her lover second, and now both were gone. The loss felt physical; shouldn't she be bleeding, to feel this sort of pain? She looked down at her body, confused. Her heart was still beating; how was that possible?

It was Harry who broke the silence. "We need to call the Order together. Hermione's right, we need to act on this intelligence immediately. If we have any chance of confronting You-Know-Who anytime soon, this is it. It's about half two right now; we should all try to get a little bit of sleep before the sun rises. I'll wait until half five to floo everyone and we'll meet at six A.M. here in the kitchen. That gives us just over two hours to sleep, and some time to regroup. It's not much, but it's all we can afford at the moment. We need to be sharp. This ends tonight."

He turned his attention on Hermione. "I'm not going to tell you that all of this is okay, Hermione. What we've been through in the last day… there's a lot to work out." She grimaced as she remembered the terrible things she had said to Harry. How could she have been so angry at him for using Legilimency against her? Less than a day ago she had been ready to throw away their friendship, a friendship she'd had for almost half of her life. And now she was the sinner undeserving of forgiveness.

He walked over and sat next to her on the bench. His emerald eyes were sad and he looked much older than his nineteen years. "I can't say it's going to be okay," he repeated. "But I can tell you that it will take a lot more than that for me to blot you out of my life, Bookworm. This war is going to get worse before it gets better, and if Nott was right, and you do have something in that crazy brain of yours that can help us defeat You-Know-Who…. I need you by my side. We'll figure everything else out after, but right now, we need to concentrate on ending this war. Can I count on you to fight beside me?" Harry's eyes searched Hermione's, looking for traces of his dear friend.

"Of course you can, Harry," she whispered. She didn't deserve his words, or his trust. She knew he needed her to fight with the Order, but she couldn't believe that he wasn't giving up on her. "I'm not sure what it is that I know; I've been researching so much this last year, it could be anything. But whatever it is, I promise, I'll do whatever I can to bring this bastard down, or die trying. I won't let you down this time."

His arms wrapped around her as he folded her into a hug. It was the last thing she expected, and the one thing she needed. The dam broke and the deluge of tears she'd denied herself flowed forth like a river. And, although she didn't think she deserved such affection, she held onto Harry as tightly as she could while he stroked her back and whispered comfort into her ear.

When her sobs abated, Harry untangled himself from her grasp and stood. "Okay, you have about two hours to rest and regroup, and then we meet with the Order. This is it. Tonight, we bring the Dark Lord to his death."

Hermione stood to follow Harry out of the room, stopping at the doorway to look back at Ron. He was still bent over the table, his face hidden in his hands. She turned to leave when she heard him murmur.

Slowly she made her way back to the table. Sighing, he raised his head to meet her gaze. The blue of his eyes was ringed with red, and his face was splotchy. She was reminded forcefully of the days after Fred's death; that had first time she had seen Ron cry like that, and it humbled her. She hated to know that she was the one who caused his grief this time.

He looked at her a while before he said anything. "Hermione… I don't even know what to say right now. I feel like these last couple months have been a walking nightmare. We were supposed to figure out the key to beating You-Know-Who, win this war without any more casualties, get married, and have a house full of kids. That was the plan; at least it was my plan. You weren't supposed to get kidnapped, or injured. We weren't supposed to be apart. You weren't supposed to understand what this... what real hatred feels like. I was the one who was to protect you.... Harry told me everything that happened with Nott, or the Dark Lord, or whoever…" He trailed off, confused as to what he truly wanted to say. "I want to let you know that if it had been me interrogating Nott, I would have done what you did and worse. I would have torn him apart with my bare hands. I can't even LOOK at you without feeling like I need to destroy something. I feel helpless, 'Mione, like I'm somehow... less. All I know is that you have always been everything pure and good and wonderful to me. And now, when I look at you…."

She gasped aloud, her arms wrapped tightly around her arms as she prepared herself for the worst. He hated her, couldn't stand to look at her. She understood the feeling all too well.

"When I look at you now, I still see that girl. But I know neither of us is the same after all of this. And it kills me to know that we may not get our happy ending because of this monster. He's already destroyed so many good things, 'Mione. He's responsible for the deaths of so many people, so many people we've loved. It's because of him and his followers that Harry's an orphan, and Teddy, too. They've taken so many from us - Dumbledore, Tonks, Lupin… and Fred." His voice broke, his eyes filling again. "I don't know if we'll make it through the night, love. Any of our lives could be forfeit. But I need you to know that I haven't given up on you, or on us. I hate what all of this has done to you, but I still believe in you. I still believe in us, no matter how difficult it may be. But I need you to believe in yourself again. You're the brightest witch of our age, or so they say." His mouth twitched into a sad smile. "If anyone can figure out how to bring the Dark Lord down, it's you. We'll figure out everything else later; the mission is what matters now. We fight together, you, me and Harry, side by side, got that, love?"

She sighed and ran her fingers over his. How did she deserve to know a person as loyal as Ronald Weasley? In the past he had been occasionally unpredictable, known for bouts of jealousy, but the war has seen a change in him. She didn't think he could see past her recent transgressions, but he was willing to accept her, imperfections and all. She knew she didn't deserve it.

"You, me, and Harry. I wouldn't have it any other way."

He lifted her hand to his lips. "You need some sleep. Come on, love. Now's not the time to be lonely." Entwining his fingers into hers, he led her out of the kitchen and up the stairs. The door to his room was open, and she followed him in. When they got to the bed, he moved to the far side, making room for her to lie down. She knew that she should go to her own room; he was far too vulnerable after finding out the true scope of her sufferings at Voldemort's whim. When he had time to process what she had actually done to Nott, she was sure that he would reconsider the ease with which he offered her forgiveness. She was too selfish to worry about such things at the moment, however. This would be the last time she allowed herself such a comfort. Although Ron might still believe in them, she knew she would never permit herself to be with him like that again. He may still care for her, and she certainly loved him more than anything in this world, but she wouldn't be the one to hurt him like that. Her time with Nott had shown her things about herself that she loathed, but she would deal with them alone. Ron wouldn't be the one weighed down by her darkness.

Today was the day they would fight Voldemort for the last time; either he would die, or they would. The future of their world rested on their very young shoulders. She shivered, remembering she was to be instrumental in bringing down the Dark Lord. She had no idea what to do, or if she'd be able to do it when the time came.

Ron's calloused fingers squeezed hers, and he beckoned her to lie next to him. She gave in to the promise of comfort. Tomorrow she may die, but tonight she would forget the rest of the world, and spend two hours of heaven wrapped up in his arms.


	7. Resuscitation

Two hours. One hundred twenty minutes. Seven thousand, two hundred seconds. It's nothing, really. It's over before you've really had the chance to ponder it, the moments slipping through the hourglass.

If Hermione had access to a Time-Turner, she'd go back to this moment, again and again. Her head on Ron's chest, his fingers tangling her hair. Few words were shared between the two young lovers. Mere words could not convey what these precious stolen moments meant. Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, lying together, seeking comfort in the rise and fall of each other's breaths. The last battle stood before them, threatening to overwhelm everything good and pure in their lives. They did their best to ignore the intrusion, concentrating on the resulting warmth of their pressed bodies, the sacredness of fingertips and soft kisses.

Years from now, when she was older and removed from the terror of that last battle, she would reflect on that time in Ron's bed at 12 Grimmauld Place. How he held her like a promise, how she put away the thoughts of them breaking one another's hearts. Seven thousand, two hundred seconds of peace. The memory would soothe her during troubled times; she would let it wash over her, remembering how he smelled of shampoo, toothpaste, and freshly cut grass.

It was over far too soon, of course. It was Ron that first heard Harry's footsteps outside the door, but he did his best to ignore the sound. Seconds later, though, Hermione became aware of his feet on the staircase, and the magic was broken. She untangled her arms from his waist and sat up.

"Well. I suppose we should be getting ready; although what that means, I haven't a clue."

She tried to ignore the gloomy look on Ron's face as she stood.

"'Mione… come back to bed." She felt his hand grasp hers tightly. "Just a few more minutes, please." Hermione made the mistake of looking into his eyes, and the desperation she saw in them stopped her cold. He needed her. They were walking into a literal battlefield in just a few hours, and either one of them could very well die tonight.

Whether they lived or not, once she left this room, it would be over; not just the moment, but them. She hesitated, unsure of what to do.

"Please, love, please. Not yet. Gods, I'm just not ready yet, please." His lifted her hand to his chest, pressing it to his heart. She felt a furious rhythm on her palm, his heart like a kick drum pounding out the tempo. The beat drew her in, closer to him, this beautiful man who needed her, who was so alive and present and real. More than anything, she needed to feel alive right now; vibrant, pulsing with life.

She lowered herself to the bed, her arms wrapping around him as she brushed his lips with hers, so softly, unsure of exactly what it was he needed. He deepened the kiss, his mouth encouraging hers. Gently, his teeth nipped at her bottom lip as he pulled her into his lap. His mouth left hers as he explored her neck; a moan escaped her as he bit down on that delightful bit of flesh between her neck and shoulder. Breaking away from her grasp, he looked into her golden brown eyes, asking for permission. Deep blue eyes, glazed, wanting… more. Her body answered his silent question fervently as she felt herself sinking in to the depths of his need. If he was drowning in desire, she was going down with him.

She found his mouth again, deepening the kiss, grasping his shoulders as she moved to straddle him. Merlin, she had missed this! The way their bodies fit together so wonderfully, the way he moved beneath her. His hands made their way up her sides, kneading her back with his fingertips. They stopped at her ribcage, and she groaned in frustration. Reaching down, she grasped the hem of her jumper, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull the offending garment over her head.

He hissed his approval, his tongue claiming hers. He drew a single finger from her collarbone down her bra strap, following the contour of the cotton cups and settling in the valley of her breasts. "Ron, please…" He was quiet, but she could feel the shaking of his laughter as he teased her mercilessly. He loved to watch her squirm.

She knew how to play this game, however. Slowly she ground her hips into his, feeling his rising need pressing between her legs. She pressed her chest into his, throwing her head back as she closed her eyes. A soft moan…

And he was helpless to her charms. "Damn those feminine wiles," he breathed into her ear, nipping harder than normal at her lobe. He made quick work of her bra, throwing it across the room as his mouth found her breast. His hand reached to knead her other breast, his fingers stopping to pinch her nipple just the way she liked. She felt the delicious melting sensation low in her body, spreading out, spreading downward, threatening to overtake her in its power. Her breath was coming out in moans and gasps now, her back arching into him, her body aching for contact. Her fingers grasped at his flame-colored hair, and she lowered her head to bite down on his shoulder.

In one fluid movement he had her on her back. His lips traced a trail from breasts down to stomach, taking the time to suck on her hip bone, causing her to involuntarily buck her hips against him. A quick flick of the fingers and her jeans were unbuttoned, unzipped. His hands grasped her waistband as he removed them completely, leaving her naked except for her blue cotton knickers.

He made his way back up her body, settling his weight on her, letting her feel his desire for her through his trousers. Her hips rose to meet his and she tugged on his vest, desperate to feel his skin on hers. Delicate fingers followed the shape of his arms, relishing the movement of muscle below skin. She was scratching his back and sucking on his bottom lip the way he loved when she felt his right hand wander down to the waistband of the only garment she was currently wearing. His fingers pulled at the side of her knickers; he was teasing her again. She pushed her hips into his hand, asking for more. He adjusted his weight and moved to lie alongside her. Slowly he brushed the back of his hand down to her center, stopping to cup her over the fabric. She bit her lip, willing him to liberate her of her clothing. He obliged, slowly pulling the flimsy garment down her long legs, stopping to kiss his way up to her thighs. His hand reached again to cup her, and she felt dizzy with longing.

"You always feel so perfect," he murmured. "How do you do that?" A kiss on her hipbone. A finger along her folds, lightly grazing her bundle of nerves, causing her to gasp a bit too loudly. She grabbed his hand and froze.

"Ron, did you put up a silencing charm?"

"Well, no… it's not like I planned on this happening. Although it was at the forefront of my mind, I'll admit it…"

"Merlin, I hope Harry didn't… hear anything."

"Wouldn't be the first time, love," he said, a bit too proudly.

She slapped him lightly on the head, then waved at the door, and the charm was set.

"'Mione, when did you start doing wandless AND wordless spells?"

"I dunno. I was practicing both sorts quite a lot, before… well, a couple months ago. I guess I've just finally gotten the hang of it. Now can we please stop talking about spells and concentrate? We've only got so long, the other Order members will be here soon."

"As the lady wishes," Ron spoke into her lips, grinning, and he thrust a finger inside of her without warning. She groaned her appreciation; it had been far, far too long. Their recent interruption aside, she was more than ready for him, but he had other plans. Adding another finger, he worked in and out of her, his thumb brushing her clitoris in rhythm with his fingers. She had been close to the edge before, but now she was barely hanging on.

She pulled as his trousers, unbuttoning them and tearing down the zipper in her frustration. Together they worked to push them down, and his briefs followed. Subconsciously licking her lips, she looked down at him. Her hand clasped over his length and she was again amazed at how something can be so impossibly firm and yet feel silky-soft, like rose petals. Slowly she rubbed him, pulsing every few strokes the way he had shown her their first time together.

He continued his attentions on her, listening to her breaths to gauge pressure and speed.

Her whole body felt flushed; she couldn't keep her eyes open, and her hips were moving in rhythm to Ron's ministrations. She was so close; her muscles were at the height of their tension, she felt that terribly delicious ache low in her body.

"Come on; just let go. Let me see you let it all go." He pushed down harder on her clit, his fingers buried deep, her liquid arousal warm on his hand.

Suddenly, everything was explosions and chaos – it was the universe being torn apart and put together again. She fought to catch her breath, her screams stifled by Ron's mouth as it moved against her own.

He allowed her a handful of heartbeats to come down from her peak before he was at her entrance. A bruising kiss and he thrust his way in. It had been months since they'd made love. Wrapped in her heat, feeling her residual quivers, he was in physical pain from holding back his release. He bit his lip, holding her hips down to keep her from moving against him. He drew in a shaky breath, and slowly pulled back, then pushed forward.

This was it. Being inside Hermione, feeling her completely surrounding him… this was what it was all about. If he died tonight, he would be unafraid. He had been to heaven, and it was in his bed, between his love's parted thighs. He could do anything, now.

He pulled her up into sitting position and allowed her to set the pace. He wanted to see her come again, and he knew she wouldn't get there from penetration alone. His thumb once again found her clitoris and he rubbed circles into it, hoping he could last long enough for her to find her release one more time.

Hermione's entire world was this moment, this sensation, this sweetness. Her limbs heavy, her breath shallow, she squeezed her eyes tightly close and watched spots of light flood the blackness.

Ron moved relentlessly inside of her, his hands touching her where she needed most to be touched, his mouth branding hers. She increased their pace, holding her breath, waiting for…

This. Heaven. Oblivion.

She threw her head back, unable to hold herself up anymore. His hands reached around her, wrapping her into him as he thrust once, twice, three times before finding his release in her arms.

When he was able to see straight again, he laid them back on the bed, still inside of her. He wasn't ready to separate just yet, because that would mean that the moment was over. Looking down at her, he was amazed to see tears streaming down her face.

"Love, what's the matter?"

She shook her head, unable to speak.

"Did I hurt you? Gods, I'm so sorry, Hermione!"

She found her voice, then. "No, no Ron. It's not that. It's just… that was really beautiful and amazing and I couldn't have asked for anything better. You're magical, you know that?" She was quiet for a moment. "It's time. Like Harry said, this ends tonight. But no matter what happens, I need you to know something, okay? Shh, just listen. You're my best friend, Ron, and my first and only love. You drive me crazy sometimes, and if I never have to hear you and Harry talk about Quidditch again, it'll be too soon…. But I've been blessed to have you in my life, to grow up with you, to just know you. You'll always be in my heart, and in my thoughts, always. You just need to know that, alright?"

He brushed her hair away from her face, and he didn't try to hide the tear falling from his eye. "I love you, 'Mione. We'll make it through, we'll be okay. You, me, and Harry… come on, no one can beat the Golden Trio." He tried to smile, but it wasn't convincing. "But whatever happens, I know. I love you more than anything else I can even imagine loving. And after… well, I'm always going to be here, yeah?" He lowered his head to kiss her neck. "Always."

Softly, he brushed her lips with his, and then he pulled away from her.

Immediately the cold set in. Hermione sat up, wrapping herself in a sheet as she walked away from the bed to grab her clothes. The spell was broken. The outside world had come crashing in. This had been the last time, and she could barely contain her quiet sobs as she faced away from him. She leaned down to put on her knickers and her jeans, and quickly brushed away the offending tears. She needed to hold it together – they had a long afternoon of planning, and a night full of fighting ahead of them.

Straightening her jumper, she turned back to Ron and saw him sitting on the bed, watching her. She walked over to him, and kissed the top of his head. With a wave of her hand, the silencing spell was broken. She looked at him one last time and walked out the door.


	8. Reunions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - In case the timeline seems a bit confusing (it's supposed to be, since Hermione was in and out of it the first two days she was back at Grimmauld Place), this is the morning of the fourth day Hermione has been back at 12 Grimmauld Place.

The walk down the flight of stairs to the kitchen was a short one, but with each step Hermione felt herself moving further and further away from the dream of one day being Mrs. Hermione Weasley. She told herself it was such a silly thing to think about at a time like this; in just a few hours, the fate of the wizarding world would be decided. And here she was, crying over a boy.

'He's not just a boy,' she argued with herself. 'He's Ron.' The distinction made all the difference in the world.

How was she supposed to walk away from him? She knew it was the right choice, but she couldn't actually picture herself leaving. Would she have the strength to do it? Would she even have the chance? No one was safe in war, especially herself, according to Voldemort's plans. Maybe the decision would be made for her. 'What a morbid thought.'

She stubbornly brushed away the tears and shook her head. She needed clarity right now, not confusion. The emotions flooding her body were a hindrance; what she required was lucidity and precision of thought. She stepped into the kitchen and put on the tea kettle. The Order would be here in just a few minutes and she felt like she needed to keep her hands occupied as her mind raced. It was very early in the morning, just before six. Her whole body felt heavy and lethargic. 'It could have been the whole murdering Theo thing, or possibly shagging your best friend,' she thought to herself sarcastically. The last twenty-four hours had been ludicrous. She barely recognized herself; what sort of person can go from torturing someone to making love like that? What had just happened upstairs was so tender and beautiful, and here she was, standing outside of the door where she presumed Nott's body still lay. She shivered at the thought and felt her stomach turn. She couldn't shake the dissonance of the two actions. Who had she become?

She tried to gather her thoughts and concentrate on the upcoming meeting. Voldemort thought she was a real threat; that meant she must know something important, even if she couldn't access what that was at the moment. What could it be? There were so many possibilities. She must have read at least a hundred books since the Battle of Hogwarts. That was almost a year ago, wasn't it? Or was it more than a year ago? The last handful of days had passed in a swirl of fear, regret, and confusion; what was the date? Nott kidnapped her in late March… so it had to be mid May, right?

Which meant that it had been just over a year since the Battle of Hogwarts.

Which meant that Fred Weasley died over a year ago.

Which meant that while she was being tortured by Nott, Ron was at Grimmauld Place, worrying about her while mourning his brother's death all over again.

Fuck.

When had life become this waking nightmare? Awful, dreadful things happened to good people. Good people did awful, dreadful things. You could love someone and still have to let them go; that wasn't fair. None of this was fair. She felt her anger rising as she thought of Fred Weasley. He had been a sort of older brother to her, and he was gone. Dead at twenty years old; "That's nothing," she whispered to herself, "Nothing." Hermione would turn twenty in just a few months. 'If I live through tonight, that is.' She tried to stop her train of thought but it was relentless.

Fred Weasley, who brought such laughter to everyone around him. He had fought for what he truly believed in, and he was killed because of it. And George… George would never be the same. He was a shadow of the young man she once knew; Hermione hadn't heard him laugh once since Fred's death. According to Ron, George was now unable to produce a Patronus; Fred's death had affected the very core of his magic. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had been shut down immediately following the Battle of Hogwarts, and George moved out of the adjacent flat and back into the Burrow immediately. The remaining twin refused to sleep in the childhood room he had once shared with Fred, deciding upon Ron's room in the attic instead. Hermione had visited the twins' room once after Fred's death, following a lunch with the remaining Weasleys. She understood why George couldn't bear to be in the room; it felt like Fred's spirit was everywhere, settling between unused Puking Pastilles and Fainting Fancies. The room still smelled of gunpowder, and Fred's Quidditch gear had been lying on his bed, as if he had just carelessly tossed it there moments ago. The feeling that Fred would waltz right through the door was tangible to Hermione; she couldn't imagine how George or the rest of the Weasleys felt.

She heard a noise from the other room, and knew that the first member of the Order of the Phoenix had arrived via floo for their meeting. She knew there was a good chance that Mrs. Weasley would bring some sort of food for breakfast, regardless of the last minute notice of the meeting. She placed a stack of plates on the middle of the table, along with silverware. She was just setting out mugs when she saw Ginny walk into the kitchen.

"Hermione, I'm so glad to see you!" The red-haired girl rushed to envelope her into a bruising hug. "I was so worried! Merlin, you have no idea. Ron and Harry asked everyone to stay away from Headquarters while you were recovering, but it killed me not to be here for you. How are you? What's happened since you've been back?"

So Harry hadn't given specifics when he called the meeting. Ah well, everyone would know soon enough. "It's good to see you too, Gin," she smiled, hugging the girl once more, and ignoring her questions. Pulling back, Hermione searched the youngest Weasley's face. "You look happy, Gin. What happened while I was gone?"

The pretty girl blushed, her face turning almost as red as her long, beautiful hair. "Well, you know how things have been... difficult between Harry and I since... since Fred died."

Hermione knew well enough. Harry had been in love with Ginny for years; they had dated for a short time while at Hogwarts, but had broken things off after Dumbledore's death. After the Battle of Hogwarts, they didn't even question whether they should get back together or not; it just wasn't the time. Ginny had been changed by Fred's death, just like the rest of the Weasley clan. Ginny had always felt close to both Fred and George; she had a mischievous streak that could definitely be attributed to her older brothers. She had always felt a special kinship to Fred, however, the more outspoken and sarcastic of the twins. After his death she mourned, but not at all like George. While George had turned inward, getting quieter by the day, Ginny turned her grief into anger. At the Battle of Hogwarts, Ginny was told to stay in the Room of Requirement, as she was underage, but she had to leave while Harry, Ron, and Hermione searched for the Lost Diadem of Ravenclaw. She had ended up fighting against everyone's wishes. She had always been a remarkably talented young witch; people most often remembered her Bat-Bogey hex, but when she was truly enraged she would prove to be a force to be reckoned with. Fred's death added fuel to her fire, and in the months after her brother's death, all of her will was bent on revenge. It was three long months after the Battle, on her seventeenth birthday, that she was finally allowed to be an official member of the Order. At seventeen, she was an adult in the wizarding world. She volunteered for every mission, much to Molly and Arthur's dismay. Harry tried to stop her at each turn, resulting in impassioned and brutal fights, but he quite often lost such struggles. The Order of the Phoenix was a bare bones crew now, and every viable soldier was necessary to accomplish their goals. With Voldemort's increased raiding parties into the local villages, the Order took a defensive stature. Tonight would be the first all-offensive mission they had carried out in over a year.

"Yes... difficult would certainly be the word for it," Hermione replied diplomatically.

"Harry hated the idea of me in danger," Ginny explained. "When you were taken, he was incredibly distraught, and understandably so. Hermione, we looked for you for weeks before we had the slightest lead. I volunteered to lead one of the search parties to find you. Along with Bill and Charlie of course," she grumbled the last bit out between clenched teeth. "I think Harry finally started to see that I wasn't just some girl he cared for, I was actually an asset to the Order. He's finally gotten it. He still says that we can't be officially together until You-Know-Who is gone, but he has been holding my hand again." Her face shown with such happiness Hermione had to giggle; she hadn't seen her friend this happy since Hogwarts. "I know it's such a silly thing to be worked up about, but I just missed him so much. I would take any little bit of affection at this moment. Anything but the silence he showed me for the last year. I just need him in my life, you know? Without all the fighting. Not just as a leader, but as my friend. And hopefully, after the war, a hell of a lot more than that!" She grinned suggestively, waggling her eyebrows.

"Ginevra Weasley, you saucy minx!" teased Hermione, her earlier tension melting away in Ginny's presence. She couldn't believe the change in the young woman. Ginny may have been two years younger than she was, but Hermione had always felt a close friendship with the only female Weasley child. She had shared a room with her during summers at the Burrow, and the two had become good friends. Hermione had, at times, been jealous of her friend; Ginny was witty, popular, and beautiful. Growing up with seven older brothers couldn't have been easy, but it helped form her into the assertive, confident woman she was today.

Simply put, Harry didn't stand a chance.

Just then, a cart full of casserole dishes floated through the door, followed by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Molly gently set the cart down on the ground, and Arthur set a bottle of Firewhiskey on the kitchen counter.

Noticing the girls' surprised looks, he smiled. "I know it's breakfast time, but I figured if there ever was a time to drink and toast to success, today would be the day."

Hermione rushed to hug her surrogate parents. There were very few people on this earth as truly good as Arthur and Molly Weasley. After everything that had happened to their family in the last year, they remained the Order's biggest supporters. The last year had taken them to Hell and back, yet they were ever faithful to the cause.

Molly had Hermione wrapped in an embrace when Arthur spoke again. "I can't tell you how happy we are to see you, Hermione. After Fred," he stopped, composed himself, and began again. "After losing Fred, we couldn't imagine never seeing you again. You truly are a daughter to us, my dear. Molly? Molly, you can let her go now, love. She's not going to run away. Molly, come on love." He pried his wife's arms off of Hermione, who was grateful for the ability to breathe deeply once more.

Mrs. Weasley smiled. "Arthur's right, my dear, you are a daughter to us, indeed. And perhaps one day, we can make it official, hmmm?" Her smile grew impossibly wide.

"Blimey, Mum, you know exactly what to say to make things awkward." Ron had obviously heard that last bit while walking down the stairs. "Hermione and I are friends, aren't we, 'Mione?" His tone was relaxed and aloof, but Hermione didn't miss the knowing look in his eye. She blushed, remembering the things he had done to her body in the room above their heads just minutes before. She cleared her throat and saw the corners of his mouth turn up just slightly at the uncomfortable noise. "Yes, friends, exactly. Best friends, always." She turned to the stove to grab the kettle, hiding her red face.

"Well, that's settled then, isn't it? Mum, what did you bring me?" He rubbed his hands together, licking his lips.

"This food is for everyone, Ronald, not just you. Now sit." Mrs. Weasley pointed at the table sternly, and everyone but Hermione sat quickly.

"Alright, we have coffee and tea," Hermione offered. When everyone was settled with a beverage and a plate of Mrs. Weasley's delicious breakfast casserole, she made her way upstairs to locate Harry.

She found him in his bedroom, looking out the window. He smiled when he saw her standing in the doorway, but the cheer did not reach his eyes.

"Hey Bookworm," he greeted, and she warmed at the term of endearment. He had heard her parents use it once at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters years ago, and had adopted it immediately. She liked how it sounded coming from him. It was a family nickname, and hearing Harry use it reminded her of how much he felt like a brother to her. With a grimace she recalled the password placed on the room downstairs - 'Family.' She certainly hadn't treated him as such yesterday; she needed to make things right. Stepping into the room, she stopped to sit at the edge of his bed.

"Harry," she began quietly, looking down at her hands, "before everyone else gets here, I just wanted to tell you something. I'm so sorry for getting so mad at you, and for saying those hurtful things. Of course I trust you Harry. I love you, and I'm so, so very sorry if I ever made you question that. I don't know what's wrong with me. I feel like I was taken apart and not put back together quite right; it's hard to explain. What I did to Nott... gods, it felt like it was another person doing those things. I just lost control, I guess. That certainly doesn't excuse my actions; I know nothing will do that. But that's the best way I can explain it. Can you forgive me?"

He moved from the window to sit next to her on the bed. "You're not the only one who feels regret from yesterday, 'Mione. I'm sorry I didn't give you time to tell me everything; I'm sorry I pushed you like that. After what you went through, I'm sure it did feel like a violation. And it should have, because that's exactly what it was. I was so caught up in getting information I let myself forget that it was my best friend I was hurting. So yes, I can forgive you; can you forgive me?"

"You didn't even need to ask, but yes, of course I forgive you, Harry. And like I said, I will do whatever I can to take You-Know-Who down, or I'll die trying. I have no idea what the key to all of this is, but I'm going to do my best, I promise." She took his hand in hers

"That's all any of us can do."

They hugged, and Hermione felt herself getting emotional again. She sighed, "I'm really sick of crying. When things are bad, I cry. When things are good, I cry. When I'm tired, I cry. It's really emotionally draining."

Harry laughed at her, wiped her tears, and pulled both of them to their feet. "Chin up, Granger. We've got a war to win."


	9. Remnants

Downstairs, the Order of the Phoenix was gathered. Harry looked around the table at each member. Most of them had seen battle before, but it had been quite a while since their defensive skills had been truly tested. He tried not to feel discouraged at their small numbers, but things seemed grim.

The Weasleys were there, of course: Arthur and Molly, Bill and Fleur, Charlie, Percy, George, Ron, and Ginny. Harry saw some of his former classmates; Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, Lee Jordan, Dean Thomas and Oliver Wood all became official members within the last year. Three of his former professors - Hagrid, Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout - were in attendance. Kingsley Shacklebolt was there; he was the official leader of the group, although he left much of the decision-making to Harry, the unofficial co-leader. And then there was Hermione.

Harry really should have been thankful to have these people there at all; they were twenty strong, which was much better than many expected this time a year ago. In the last twelve months they had lost Dedalus Diggle, Hestia Jones, and Aberforth Dumbledore. And, of course, there were those lost in the Battle of Hogwarts - Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, and Fred Weasley. They had lost Severus Snape as well, a confusing man who had apparently been on their side all along. It had taken almost a year for Harry to admit to himself that Snape was a true hero. It was difficult to think of the man who had tried to make his life at Hogwarts miserable as being the same man who loved Lily Evans so dearly.

It was hard to say exactly how many were on Voldemort's side. Few had seen any Death Eater's face since the Battle of Hogwarts. Harry knew from what Hermione had relayed to him that Draco Malfoy had defected, and that the Slytherin's mother had been killed. He wasn't sure if Lucius Malfoy would be fighting for Voldemort or not, or if he was even alive. Harry estimated that there would be at least twenty-two Death Eaters with Voldemort, although they may have recruited more since Hogwarts. There had been rumor that some had been coerced into the Dark Lord's service in exchange for their survival, or that of their families. If that was the case, Voldemort may have added more in his ranks, although how dedicated they would be to the evil cause was hard to say.

And then, of course, there was Voldemort himself. What was left of Harry's enthusiasm wilted at the thought.

Kingsley stood to speak. "Welcome, my friends. I know it is early, but we are short on time, I'm afraid. For two decades the Order has been fighting He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Tonight, our fighting ends. Tonight, we bring the Dark Lord to his knees. I now ask that you stand with me and recite the Creed of the Order of the Phoenix."

Together, the twenty members stood, and in one voice, spoke these words:

"Though we may be few, we are strong. Though we have lost many, we shall persevere. Where there is darkness, we shall shine a light. Where there is evil, we shall fight. We remain faithful, loyal, true. Constant vigilance."

Harry felt goosebumps on his arms as he recited the creed. Hermione had been the one to write it, just weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts. "We need a statement of intent," she had explained to Harry. "We need words to convey who we are and why we fight. Words have power, Harry. They give purpose and strength. We need those words right now."

'They are powerful words,' thought Harry. He could feel them flow through him, reassuring him and providing him with courage. Constant vigilance, just like Mad-Eye used to say.

When everyone had sat down again, Kingsley indicated that Harry should take the floor.

He absentmindedly ran a hand through his hair. "Ah, well, to start off, I'd like to officially welcome Hermione back, and to thank you all for your diligence in searching for her. It was Ginny, Bill and Charlie who found the intelligence that led us to her captor. I'd like to formally acknowledge them and thank them for their service."

Everyone nodded their thanks, and Hermione reached across to the table to squeeze Bill and Charlie's hands. She leaned into Ginny, who sat next to her, and rested her head on the younger girl's shoulder. "Thank you so much, Gin. I had no idea." Ginny reached down to squeeze her friend's leg. "Course, 'Mione. You're my sister."

"Hermione has... shared her experience with me," Harry looked uncomfortable for a brief moment; shared wasn't exactly the word, but he didn't want to go into details. "Suffice it to say, we are just thankful that she is back alive. Many people would not survive what she was forced to endure."

Hermione looked down at her hands, embarrassed at the attention and questioning looks.

"As most of you know, Theo Nott was the one to capture our Hermione. However, we have found out that he was not truly the one to blame."

"Not solely the one to blame, you mean. I still blame him," Ron interjected, glaring dangerously.

Harry continued, "Nott had been placed under the Imperius Curse by the Dark Bastard himself; anything he did was by the order and will of You-Know-Who. We learned that he was to do even more things, terrible things, but Nott was able to resist the very worst commands, thankfully. Through some... advanced methods of Legilimency," he hesitated, "we learned that Theo Nott had considered defecting, but stayed with the Death Eaters in order to protect a young woman he loved. We have the location of the young woman, and we believe she is currently being protected by Draco Malfoy, who defected from the Death Eaters approximately two months ago." He looked at the faces surrounding him and saw their astonishment and disbelief.

He smiled slyly. "Now, I know that many of us would be tied in a 'Who Hates Draco Malfoy the Most' contest, but we all know that I would win."

"Oi, mate, I'd like to take you up on the challenge," Ron quipped.

Hermione laughed, "Get in line, Ron."

Harry cleared his through, "Ahem, as I saw saying…. We all know that I am not exactly a fan of Malfoy, and we all have many reasons not to trust him. However, he left on his own, without any coercion from the Order. He was to be the one to capture and torture Hermione, but defected when he couldn't do it. For that reason alone, I am prepared to offer him amnesty here at Headquarters until the Ministry of Magic is once again functioning. After that, he will be handed over to the authorities for trial. The girl will stay here as well, until we can find her family or find another safe place for her to relocate."

He took a deep breath, letting the previous information sink in.

"We have very little time, my friends. It is now seven a.m., and we will attack tonight at seven p.m. That gives us ten hours to plan, prepare, and put our affairs in order. At five p.m. we will reconvene here and make our way to You-Know-Who's hideout. We have the location, and we believe that he is still there. We also believe that he will be expecting us, so I urge you all to be extremely careful in the next few hours. If it's at all possible, I ask that you stay here until we leave. If you must go elsewhere, please, be on your guard. The Death Eaters could very well be on the offensive right at this moment, trying to get a head start on tonight's battle."

He withdrew his wand from his pocket and pointed it at the middle of the table. "Kingsley and I discussed basic tactics this morning via floo, but of course Ron will have the final say in our strategy." Everyone nodded; Ron was always in charge of strategy, although he was good at accepting input.

Harry drew a rough sketch of the grounds of Nott Manor onto the table, concentrating on the shape of the main house and the outlying buildings. He had searched the Manor months after the Battle of Hogwarts, looking for Death Eaters. As he began to see the layout more clearly in his mind, the sketch grew into a smoky three-dimensional model.

"The plan thus far is to Apparate a half kilometer north of Nott Manor, outside of the wards. Those of you who are accomplished fliers will bring broomsticks. Hermione," she rolled her eyes; everyone knew she was rubbish on a broom, but did he need to point it out?

Harry grinned and continued, "Hermione will lead one ground assault team along with Bill, Molly, Professor McGonagall, Dean and Neville. Hermione has seen inside the Manor thanks to Nott, so you are to follow her lead. Kingsley will lead the other ground assault team, along with Arthur, Charlie, Percy, Hagrid, and Professor Sprout. We are anticipating no less than twenty Death Eaters, and we fear there may be quite a bit more. And then of course, there's the Dark One himself. We are to believe that Hermione has a very important part to play in the demise of You-Know-Who, so she and I will be making our way to him. I need the rest of you to keep an eye on both of us, but especially on Hermione. She may be the key to ending all of this; I need you to protect her with your life."

Hermione cringed at this; she wouldn't allow anyone to die for her! "Um, not with your life, please. With your wand, please."

Harry shook his head in remorse. "I can't promise we will all come back from this. But whatever happens, this war ends tonight. Fleur, Luna, I want the both of you to stock up on healing potions. We can't afford to Apparate the wounded off the battlefield; the two of you will be acting as medics, healing on-site tonight. I know you've both had a lot of experience with this, and I have nothing but faith in you. Luna, your main concern is Hermione's team; Fleur, yours is Kingsley's. Keep a look out for the air team as well. Bring as many supplies as you can; I want you to be prepared for the very worst." The two young women nodded their heads in understanding.

"Oliver, I'd like to make you the leader of the air assault team. George, Ginny, Lee, Ron and I will be joining you. George has brought loads of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder and Decoy Detonators; use these liberally, but make sure you don't blind our own people."

Wood nodded his head, "Thanks Harry, I won't let you down. And Hermione, when all of this is over, and we're back at Headquarters, I'm going to teach you how to fly. No more excuses, understand? If you're brave enough to face the Dark Lord, you're brave enough to climb on a broom."

Hermione crinkled her nose as she shook her head, eliciting laughs from most of the Weasley men. Hermione was notorious for her fear of flying; every Easter she sat on the ground with Molly as the rest of the Weasley clan played their traditional family Quidditch game. Arthur played most of the time, although he liked to proudly point out that he preferred to play football. One of the children would invariably laugh, asking, "With who Dad? Your make-believe Muggle friends?" She smiled at the memory.

Ginny leaned over to Hermione and whispered, "George had the idea to use the Powder and Decoys; he went into the shop to get them and everything. First time he's stepped foot in there since Fred passed." She sniffed, holding back tears. "I'm so proud of him."

Hermione grabbed her hand and squeezed it. "Me too, Gin."

Harry took a long sip of his coffee before speaking again. "Hermione, I'd like you to be on books all day. We need to figure out what it is that you know that makes you an asset to us and a danger to the Dark Lord. Other than your normal brilliance, that is," he covered quickly when she shot him a look.

"Ron, Kingsley, if you would come with me to strategize. The rest of you break into your teams and start planning. We need defensive tactics, offensive tactics, and a plan to get Hermione and I in with You-Know-Who without attracting too much attention. Wood, there's room out back to fly, just be aware of the wards. Once your team has a set of plans in place, I want you dueling. I don't think I have to tell you that we're dueling to kill tonight, if necessary. If you can successfully disarm and capture, do so. If it comes down to you or them, you aim to kill or maim, do you understand? Be very careful when dueling; I want your shields to be raised constantly, and I want you to curse with intention. This is it, folks. By tomorrow morning, I want this to be a memory. Are we clear?"

He looked around the room; some looked unsure about killing, but most understood the gravity of the situation they would be facing. Ginny looked ready to take on a handful of Death Eaters by herself, and Harry was fairly certain she'd be able to hold her own, if necessary. He loved the girl dearly, but she was a bit scary sometimes.

Hermione's hand shot up, and Harry was forcefully reminded of the eager student she had been at Hogwarts.

"Yes, Bookworm?" It was rare for Harry would break protocol by calling an Order member by anything other than their proper name during a meeting, but Hermione reminded him so much of her younger self at the moment that he couldn't help himself. All she needed were her Gryffindor robes and a copy of "Hogwarts, A History" and the illusion would be complete.

"I know we already did this, but can we say the Creed once more before we disperse?"

"I think that's a wonderful idea."

They stood once again, and spoke the words together. Hermione looked around the room, overwhelmed by her love for these people, and her fear for their safety. She felt the power of the words flow through her as she raised her voice along with the rest of the Order. "... We remain faithful, loyal, true. Constant vigilance."


	10. Redirection

It was four hours later that Hermione finally allowed herself to take a break. Her neck ached from leaning over her stacks of books, and she had sandpaper eyes. When the incantations started to blur, she realized she needed to stand up and walk around a bit. 'Wouldn't want to memorize a spell incorrectly,' she thought, giggling to herself, imagining Death Eaters turned into bunnies or something even more ridiculous. "That's not funny," she said aloud, "this is serious, I need to be serious, and focused." She giggled again, feeling slightly drunk from lack of sleep and the delirium brought on by weeks of stress.

"Talking to yourself, eh Hermione? You know what people say about that." She turned around, blushing at the thought of someone listening in on her crazy ramblings. There in the doorway was a very familiar face. "George! Umm... what do people say, exactly?"

"Only good things, Hermione, only good things." He gave her a half smile as he walked towards her, wrapping her in a quick hug before pulling away again. "You had us worried there 'Mione. I know you're Super Witch and all, but next time, please don't get yourself kidnapped by a lunatic, yeah?"

She smiled at him, thankful for his teasing. George hadn't spoken this much to her since Fred's death, and it was a gift to hear the lilting tone in his voice once more. It was then that she realized how much she had missed it.

"I think that's brilliant advice all around. How've you been, George? I'm sorry I wasn't here for, you know… well… I mean, it's been a year…." She couldn't believe the words coming out of her mouth. She had simply wanted to let him know that she was thinking about him, and that she was empathetic to his pain, as it was hers as well. Ugh, what a terrible way to say such a thing! She could hit herself.

George understood her verbal stumbling, however, and gave her a sad smile. "Been better, I must say. The second of May will never be a good date in my book. And with you being who knew where, suffering who knew what, most likely because of You-Know-Who… well."

She grimaced, knowing her disappearance had added to the pain of that day. "Such a wordsmith, Mr. Weasley," she lightly teased, trying to alleviate the tension in the air. "Let's just say you're better off not knowing the whole story on me; it's not a very pleasant one. What I meant to say is that I know the anniversary of Fred's death must have been awful for you, and I'm so very sorry I wasn't able to be there to support you, and the rest of the family." There, that was more along the lines of what she had initially meant to say. The lack of sleep was making her less than articulate; her brain felt fuzzy, and for good reason.

"I miss him. And Remus. And Tonks. I miss all of them." She was sure that George knew all of this, but she felt like it was important to tell him. She moved closer to the tall red-head, gently resting her hand upon his arm, afraid of scaring him away. She needn't have worried, though, as his arm wrapped around her waist, and he drew her into an affectionate sideways sort of hug. Her chocolate brown curls cascaded down his arm as she laid her head upon his shoulder, thankful for the human contact.

"Well, you are certainly in good company there, pet. There are still days I wake up and forget that he's gone; those are the worst, by far. The realization hits you, and you're in it all over again. It's enough to drive a bloke barking." She nodded her head slowly, silently urging him to continue.

"I've been angry for a year. Sad for a year. Maybe those aren't the right words; I was rubbish. All I know is that I woke up one morning about a week ago and thought, 'If Fred could see me now, see how the last year had been, he'd call me a right prat and hex me into next month.'" George laughed, squeezing Hermione's hip.

"He always was too clever for his own good when it came to pranks. You two were always up to your necks in some sort of trouble. And you may be identical, but Fred was definitely the more devious twin, I think." Her whiskey-colored eyes lit up, remembering days gone by.

He laughed, nodding in agreement. "I remember how scared he got in seventh year when you threatened to tell our mum about the Skiving Snackboxes. For days afterward, it was always 'George, you don't think she'd actually do it, do ya?' I think you're the only female would could intimidate him like that, except for Mum or Ginny, of course, but they're family."

"Hey! I'm family too, aren't I?" She was a bit hurt at his words; she had always seen the Weasleys as extended family, especially in the last few years. Did they not feel the same way?

"Yeah, well, for the most of us, that's true. I've always thought of you as a charming yet unbelievably bossy little sister. But as far as Ron and Fred are concerned, no, you've never been family," he snickered.

She pulled away from him, turning to look him straight in the eyes. "What are you saying, George Weasley?"

The older boy was laughing uncontrollably then, and she couldn't help but smile at the sight. "'Mione, you MUST have known Freddie had a thing for you. No? Seriously?" She shook her head, blushing.

"Oh yeah. This was before we know of ickle Ronniekin's feelings, of course, but I think he always carried a bit of a flame for you, pet. It started in Sixth Year, so your Fourth Year. He saw you all dolled up at the Yule Ball and couldn't stop staring, but I think he had a bit of a thing for you even before that. He was always asking about your reaction to pranks, that sort of thing. And then in Seventh year when you help create Dumbledore's Army, he was obviously smitten, commenting on your brilliance and bravery. 'Bet she could hex the balls off a Death Eater at twenty yards,' he'd boast. We sort of supposed you had feelings for Ron, so he never acted on anything, but suffice it to say, you were never a sister to him."

She shook her head, denying George's claims. "You're trying to trick me, aren't you? I don't think I believe you."

"Believe it, 'Mione. I shared a room with the bloke, and I can't count the number of times he moaned your name in his sleep. At least I think it was his sleep... Oh gods, I damn well hope he was sleeping!"

They laughed together, Hermione's face burning. "Well, I can honestly say that I have learned something new from you today, which is more than I can say about those ruddy books." He glanced over her shoulder, taking inventory of the table stacked with tomes.

"Nothing, eh?"

"Nothing new, at least. You-Know-Who thinks I managed to stumble upon some sort of secret knowledge, according to Nott. But if I know something, I don't KNOW that I know it, you know?"

"Why Miss Granger, it is obviously YOU who is the wordsmith. Do you have any sort of idea at all? Any leads, at least?"

She shook her head in frustration, her curls madly bouncing about her face. "I don't have anything! I mean, I've read a lot on Dark Magic recently, learned some really terrible curses I hope to never use. Did you know that you can literally turn someone inside out? It's horrific; their organs all splashing around, blood everywhere..." She shivered, closing her eyes. "Hey! Shouldn't you be outside perfecting your Woollongong Shimmy or something with Oliver and the rest of the fliers?"

"Please, I perfected that back in Fourth Year." He waved her off, puffing his chest in pride. "Since the air assault team is pretty much the Gryffindor Quidditch team, plus Lee, who commentated for years... well, it didn't take too long to fall into old plays and patterns. We've got all of our strategies in place, don't worry about it. You'll be as safe as houses. Well, safe as well-warded, booby-trapped houses." He scratched his head, unsure of what he had been trying to prove.

"What we were talking about before you started spouting rather impressive Quidditch terms?"

"My complete lack of any helpful leads for killing off You-Know-Who."

"Ahhh, yes. Well, tell me what you've been reading about these last few months; maybe that's a good place to start."

She pursed her lips, trying to remember what she had studied most recently. "I read about the founders of Hogwarts, more about Horcruxes (just in case we missed anything, we can't be too sure), some bits about wandlore, blood rituals, the earliest documented magic, some about magical creatures, but I don't think that last bit fits at all. I don't know! It's like I have all of this stuff in my head, I know I do, but I just can't sort it out right now. I'm so exhausted, and frazzled, and I, I just feel like I need a week to sleep and get my thoughts in order, but we've got HOURS, George, that's it! I have no bloody idea what the hell to do! And somehow I'm just supposed to just pull the key to the Dark Lord's destruction out of my ARSE and save the whole FUCKING WORLD!" Her hand shot up to clamp her mouth, her eyes wide.

George looked gobsmacked, then crowed with laughter. "Merlin, Hermione! I think that's the first time I've really heard you curse! I hope you don't mind me saying, but I sort of liked it." He wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively, and she punched him in the shoulder, hard.

"Violence doesn't become you, Granger," he warned, wagging his finger at her. She playfully jabbed at him again, but George was too fast.

"Speaking of violence... am I right in assuming that there's a reason you haven't gone to Nott for more information on this? Harry didn't mention what happened to him, but I'm guessing he's... unavailable for comment at the moment. Would I be correct in assuming that?"

She sucked in a ragged breath; she had almost forgotten the nightmare from the day before, but it was rushing back now.

"You would be correct," she said cautiously. Should she tell him? Harry hadn't been too clear on Nott's condition at the meeting, erring on the side of discretion, but eventually the truth had to come out. Nott was dead, lying in a sealed room off the kitchen. How long does it take before a body starts to smell? Or had Harry already moved the Death Eater sometime during her and Ron's interlude in his bedroom?

She searched George's eyes, deciding he could handle the truth. "I killed him. Well, I tortured him to within inches of death, and then You-Know-Who finished him off somehow; I'm not sure exactly how it worked, but his body just... stopped. And he died. And I helped cause it. I didn't know he was under the Imperius Curse. I treated him like rubbish; I wanted to cause him pain, and I wanted to destroy him. And it worked." Her tone was matter-of-fact, but her body language betrayed the vulnerability and uncertainty she felt.

Once again George Weasley enveloped the small Gryffindor in his arms, rocking her back and forth as he stroked her hair. "Oh Hermione. Terrible things happen in war, pet. Terrible things happened to you, and Nott, and terrible things will happen tonight. None of it is fair, and none of it is excusable. Fred should be here; we should have grown old together, our kids should have been best friends. I shouldn't have turned twenty-one without my twin. Teddy Lupin shouldn't be an orphan. Harry shouldn't have the world on his shoulders, and neither should you. But that's just how it is, pet. There's no getting around it. It took me a year to come to grips with it, but as our charming American friends say... well, shit happens."

He felt her shoulders shake; from sobs or laughter? He continued to stroke her hair, unsure of her current emotional state. He heard her mumble something and lowered his head to hers.

"What's that, Hermione?"

She looked up at him, her eyes wet but playful. "'Shit happens.' Ever the wordsmith."

He tickled her sides, thankful to see her dark mood had passed quickly. "Come on, Granger. I think we need to find some brain food and a Hagrid-sized cup of coffee for you. And maybe then you can tell me why my little brother kept shooting you 'shag-me eyes' during breakfast, yeah?"

"Yes to the food and coffee, no to the 'shag-me eyes'," she retorted.

"Why Miss Granger, you wound me. No one has every said no to my 'shag-me eyes' before," he teased her mercilessly as they walked to the kitchen.

"First time for everything, Georgie."

She glanced up at a clock in the kitchen as George rifled through the refrigerator for food. It was half two. Two and a half hours before the Order regrouped, and she was no closer to figuring out the key to Voldemort's death. She sighed, and poured herself a very large cup of coffee, feeling utterly useless.

"George?"

"Yeah, 'Mione?"

"I just wanted to thank you for talking to me; for some reason, it seems easier to discuss my frustrations with you rather than Harry or Ron. I feel less pressure to be perfect, or in control, or whatever. I've really missed you, you know. It's good to see you acting more like yourself again." She sipped her coffee slowly, relishing the sugary, caffeinated goodness.

"It's good to be acting more like myself. I know Fred would want me laugh, and enjoy my family and friends. It's still really difficult, but I'm going to try harder. I've got to live this life for both of us now. And anyways, who else is going to sell those ickle First-Years Skiving Snackboxes?" He ducked as she tried to hit him again.

"Come on, 'Mione. Let's grab a bite and pretend the whole world isn't going to change in a few hours. Get your mind off it all for a couple more minutes, yeah?"

She smiled and nodded in agreement. That was exactly what she needed right now; a nice little holiday for her brain.

Leaning back in his chair, George flashed her a winning smile. "Have I ever told you the one about the vicar, the football hooligan and the prostitute?"


	11. Regrets

"And then the vicar says, 'In the Biblical sense, of course!'"

"EW! George, that joke is absolutely one of the raunchiest things I've ever heard! How could you even say that? I feel like I need to take a shower." Hermione's face was the perfect picture of revulsion, and George couldn't help his laughter.

"I have to admit, I have no idea what it means, but it gets a reaction, so I knew I had to tell the innocent Miss Granger," his eyebrows wiggled like caterpillars over his twinkling eyes.

"You don't even understand that disgusting, deplorable joke? And you still tell it? George!"

"Hermione, do I look like a Muggle to you? From what I've been able to glean from other's reactions, apparently a vicar is some sort of religious figure, and a football hooligan is one who feels very strongly about a certain group of sweaty men running around a field in shorts kicking a ball. And, well, a prostitute… I don't have to be a Muggle to understand that one, thank you very much."

Hermione's hand made contact with the top of George's head with a very satisfying smack.

"Oi! What was that for?"

Her smile stretched from ear to ear as she answered him in a smug tone, "Just because, love."

"Hey, what's with the physical violence? That's not the sort of dueling I had in mind." Hermione looked to the doorway and saw Harry grinning at them, his arms crossed as he leaned against the frame.

"Ah! It's the Chosen One, come to save the day once more. Harry, help a chap out will you? I think all the studying has driven her barmy!" He ducked as Hermione laughed and tried to smack him again, but he was too quick this time.

"Sorry, George, I think you're on your own on this one; Hermione is as smart as she is scary!"

The bright witch's face fell at his words. "You don't really think I'm scary, do you Harry? I mean… after the whole, um, Nott incident, I guess I wouldn't blame you if you were scared of me, after all. I mean, I would get it. It makes sense." She nodded her head, her eyes downcast as she tried to understand, tried not to be hurt.

"Oh Bookworm. It sounds like we still need to talk about some things, yeah? Can I steal you from Georgie here for a bit?" The raven-haired hero held his hand out to his friend, willing her to take it.

He knew their talk in his bedroom hours before had been restorative, but it wasn't enough. Hermione was obviously still feeling the guilt from the previous night's activities, and if she honestly felt that he was afraid of her, that he somehow didn't trust her . . . well, that certainly wouldn't do. Number one, it wasn't true, and number two, that was no way to prepare for battle. More and more it looked like Hermione would be his weapon in this war, and he needed her sharp, confident, and altogether ready for destruction. He had told the others that they fought tonight to maim or kill; he planned on doing little of the former and more of the latter. Tonight wouldn't end with the bodies of his friends scattered amongst the ruins of the arena. Tonight he was playing for keeps; tonight he would avenge the deaths of so many. Bellatrix had been killed at the Battle of Hogwarts, so he needn't worry about that bitch, but he had plenty of Death Eaters to keep him occupied. He was particularly looking forward to stopping the heart of one Nott, Sr., if only to revel in the demise of a man who could raise an innocent child to join a creature as dark as Voldemort.

Hermione hesitated, searching his eyes for understanding. When she found it, she gladly accepted his hand and stood to follow him.

"George?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"It's good to have you back, mate. We've missed you terribly. But for the love of Merlin and all that's holy, do not repeat that joke again."

"Agreed, but only if you explain the punchline to me when this is all over," the ginger-haired boy's eyes were full of mischief-making.

"Sure, mate. I'll explain it to you over a pint, as long as I never have to hear it after that." Rolling his green eyes, he led his best friend up the stairs.

* * *

"Well, this is cozy," Hermione's voice was rich with sarcasm. Looking around, Harry really couldn't blame her; neither of them had been to the attic in at least a year, and for good reason. It was a bloody mess, full of dust, old Black family artifacts, and what looked suspiciously like bat droppings. Hermione's eyes alighted up on stack of broken mirrors littered with garbage and what appeared to be a dead mouse.

"Lovely. Just for future reference, Harry, if you're looking for a place to take a girl... say, Ginny, the red-head downstairs whose eyes have been burning holes into your lips... don't bring her up here. Just a friendly piece of advice."

"Point taken."

Flicking his wand at the junk surrounding them, Harry mumbled some incantations under his breath. The debris piled up in the corner, and he was able to locate the camp chairs he had remembered throwing up there years ago. A quick Scourgify and the chairs looked almost... well, not new, but not as vile as they had been a moment ago. He gestured towards the one closest to Hermione and motioned for her to sit. She circled the chair several times, inspecting it carefully, before she took a seat.

"So 'Mione, how's the research going?" They were running short on time, and Harry thought the forthright witch in front of him would appreciate his straightforwardness.

"It's not great, Harry. I have no idea which direction to go with all of this. I was talking to George earlier, and I've read so many things recently that the secret to You-Know-Who's downfall could be anything."

"Do you mind telling me some of things you've been reading about the past few months? I have a feeling the answer lies there, since You-Know-Who started seeing you a real threat more recently."

Hermione thought back to her conversation with George an hour before. "Well, as I was telling George, I reread 'Hogwarts, A History.'"

"Of course you did."

"Don't get cheeky, Potter, you're the one who asked me the question."

"Too true, please, go on."

"Okay. So, 'Hogwarts, A History,' concentrating on the founders in particular. Many of the horcruxes seemed to revolve around the founders as well as the school itself, so it seemed like a sensible place to start. I once again researched horcruxes, but I think we have exhausted that subject. I'm almost completely sure that we were able to destroy every last one. As you know, I've dug quite deep into the Black family library, and everything that entails. There's some desperately dark magic, there, Harry. At times I had to force myself to continue reading, but I wanted to be prepared. There were a few books on some of the earliest recorded magic, stretching back far before the Roman Empire. Let's see... I read about the history of wandlore, specifically tracing the Ollivander family. I was able to glean some information regarding the use of wands before Ollivander brought his to Britain, but it's quite hard to find out about anything before 500 BCE. It seems that magic was practiced differently back in the early days, and almost all of it, at least that I've read about, is dark magic. There was quite a lot about blood rituals in particular. I also read some interesting things about magical creatures; for instance, did you know that there is a creature related to both the unicorn AND the dragon? It lives in a small forest roughly five hundred kilometers outside of Bucharest, but it's only been captured and studied twice in the last three-hundred fifty years! It's really quite remarkable."

Harry nodded his head, holding back his laughter. Only Hermione would think to interject a comment about some crazy unicorn-dragon at a time like this.

"Let's go back to the dark magic and the blood rituals. When was it that you first started studying that? Did you practice anything, or just research it?"

"Well, I suppose it was somewhere around the beginning of February, maybe? And what do you mean by practice it? It's very dark magic, Harry."

"I know it's dark, but that's not what I asked you. Did you attempt any of it? Any blood rituals?"

She felt her face turn hot as she averted her eyes. She didn't expect Harry to ask her this sort of question, especially not in such a pointed way. There was no talking around such a direct inquiry.

"Well... yes. I was reading so much about these rituals, and I got curious, I suppose. Most of what I could find were familial rites, mainly bonding rituals, that sort of thing. But I did find a few things that I could try on my own. The one I attempted didn't seem so dangerous, so... yeah. I tried it."

"And?"

"And, I don't know. It seemed to work, I guess. It was a powerful strengthening spell, used to increase one's power and ability. It was a rather nasty spell though, I didn't like the feeling at all. You know how magic carries a charge to it? Sort of like a light spark across your skin? This was more of a grating, pulling sensation. Like I'd rubbed against sandpaper, almost. It wasn't at all pleasant."

"Did it work, though?"

"Yes," she whispered, reluctant to meet his gaze. This was not the sort of magic she was to practice; she was on the Light side of this war, and the shame she felt now was sickening.

"Hermione, look at me," Harry commanded. She drew in a breathe quickly when she saw his eyes; what normally shone like emeralds had turned dark and hard.

"I need to know exactly what happened. What sort of spell was it? What differences did you notice? Were the results temporary or long-lasting? I know this is all rather uncomfortable, but I need to know. I think this may be what You-Know-Who sensed."

"But how?"

"We'll get to that, but I need to hear it from you first. Tell me about the spell."

She bit her lip but kept his gaze. "It is a very old spell; the earliest mention I found predates Christendom by at least two centuries. It involves a sort of potion, but it's very basic compared to a potion like Felix Felicis. It relies on the elements of the earth, and the power is believed to be created from those elements."

"What exactly is used?" Hermione eyed her friend warily; he was fixating on this, and she'd rather they move onto another subject; any other subject, in fact.

"Well, there's water, and fire, and air, which are easy enough. For earth, mud is used, but it must have quite a concentration of clay, which is thought to fortify the elements. And blood, which is the catalyst, and brings them all together. The witch or wizard draws a pentagram on the ground, either scratched into dirt or written in chalk; the five points represent the four elements, as well as the fifth, which is blood. A silver cauldron, or plate, whatever is available, is used. The witch or wizard sits in the middle of the pentagram, holding the silver vessel in their lap. The mud is placed in the vessel, and an indentation is made in the center. The indentation must be deep and wide enough to hold approximately two ounces of liquid. One ounce of water is added, preferably dug from a well or acquired from a stream. The potion's strength is directly affected by the proximity of the elements to the earth, so drawing water from a tap wouldn't work as well as going to the source. Once the water is added, blood is to be drawn from the practitioner's vein and added to the earthen cup. The mixed blood and water must reach to the top of the cup but not spill over. Fire is to be added next, which is difficult, as the water resists it, of course. While there were several suggestions as to what the best solution was, I followed the one that seemed simplest, in terms of availability. Grass or twigs can be added, but they must have been found in the same location as the dirt, so as not to contaminate the potion. These can be laid across the earthen vessel and set aflame. The incantation is to be uttered with a full breath, the words said directly into the fire, as to fan the flames and then extinguish them. The elements bond somehow, and what is left is a hard, red stone. The stone is swallowed, and the spell is complete."

Harry breathed deeply; this certainly did sound like old magic. Hermione hadn't mentioned the incantation or the wand movements, however, which was peculiar.

"Is there a complicated wand movement to go along with the spell?"

The young woman shifted in her seat, obviously uncomfortable with question.

"There is no wand, Harry. This spell pre-dates wands, and is one of the oldest spells known to man. In fact, it's not known well at all. Thankfully we had the resources of the Black library, but this isn't the sort of information you could find even in the Restricted section at Hogwarts. It required extensive curse-breaking to even access this part of the Black library. This magic... it's very ancient and dark. "

"Can I ask why you tried it, then?" He wasn't accusing her of wrongdoing, he was simply curious.

"I... I wanted to be more of a help. I know that my dueling and abilities have grown since the Battle of Hogwarts, but I still feel like my skills are more theoretical rather than practical. I just wanted to pull my own weight, Harry. And I think this may be the sort of magic that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named uses, which may account for his survival, even after his horcruxes were destroyed. I think this may be how he has stayed two steps ahead of us. It's not all bad news, however. The spell can only be used three times in a person's life; any more and it strips the strength of the user. I believe You-Know-Who used it the first time after he regained his body. The second time would have been before the Battle of Hogwarts, and I'd wager that he used it again when he found out that I had escaped from Nott. It's a peculiar spell in that it can last quite a while or for just minutes, depending upon the practitioner. While the spell itself is dark, like all human blood magic, the application isn't necessarily so. If the practitioner uses the power defensively, the increased strength can last for months, perhaps even a year. If the power is used offensively, it will last anywhere from minutes to days. It's primarily a defensive spell, you see, used for protection as well as fortification of the individual. When the power is used as a weapon, however, it's short lived because the power isn't being returned to the individual, but cast outwards. Do you see what I mean?"

Harry nodded his head enthusiastically. "So what you're saying is that You-Know-Who may be under the influence of this spell, but if he is using his power to attack us, he will go through it quickly? And that if you use your powers defensively, you'll be able to retain them for longer?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I mean. But I can feel the spell has diminished greatly in me, because of what happened with Nott yesterday. Too much offensive magic, not enough defensive. Do you really think this is what He was concerned about? That I had knowledge of this spell?"

Harry was quiet for a moment, lost in thought. "I don't know if this is the only thing he was concerned about, but I think we're closer than we've ever been."

"But how could He know what I did?"

"Well, like you said, 'Mione, magic has a feel to it. Maybe he could tell someone had used the spell because so few people know about it; maybe he had some way of knowing it had been used again. It's hard to say exactly. What benefits did you find from the spell?"

"Well, I became much more adept at wandless and wordless magic. Things like closing a door or deflecting a curse have become almost second nature now; I barely have to think about it."

"Maybe someone saw you use that sort of magic and put two and two together?"

She bit her lip, considering his words. "I dunno, Harry, maybe?"

"What's the incantation that goes along with the spell?"

"Well, the original incantation is incomplete, but the most recently used is in Latin – Imperare sibi maximum imperium est. Roughly translated, it means 'to rule oneself is the ultimate power.'"

"And what's the name of the spell?"

"It seems to go by many names, but I've been thinking of it as Imperare Imperium. Harry, if you think we're getting close to the answers we've been looking for, then I think I need to go back to those passages and brush up on some similar incantations. I certainly hope we won't have to use dark magic tonight, but I'm not counting on getting by using Expelliarmus."

"That's actually part of the reason I asked you to come up here with me, Bookworm. I want you to know that I'm not afraid of you; I'm afraid for you, in some ways, but I'm afraid for myself in the same ways. When we spoke this morning in my room, you said when you were with Nott, you felt like you lost control, like it was another person doing those things to him. Is that right?"

"Well, yes. I mean, I knew what I was doing, but I guess I just felt sort of... blank? Except not completely. I felt angry, so incredibly angry, and the anger justified my actions, for the moment. Afterwards, when I realized what I had done, it felt like another person had tortured him. I was aware of what I was doing at the time, but the aftermath was confusing and muddled."

"I can't say for sure whether or not you lost control of your magic; it doesn't seem that way to me, really. It seems more like you may have lost control of what you've always seen as you logical spirit, or your judgment. You knew the end result you required, and you did what was necessary to achieve that end. Is that correct?"

"I suppose, yes, but the ends don't justify the means, Harry."

"Not all the time, no."

She looked at him strangely, then, unsure of what he was saying to her. "Alright, Harry, come on out with it, yeah? Say what you mean to say."

He stood up, turning away from her to look out the attic window. He couldn't see much because of the layers of dirt coating the glass, but at least he didn't have to meet her eyes when he spoke.

"Hermione, I have to ask something of you tonight. It's nothing that I should not be allowed to ask, and I'm sorry to do such a thing to you. But I need you to help me end this. And we're not going to do it by locking up a lot of Death Eaters in Azkaban. Some will need to survive in order for the wizarding community to forgive us for what we have to do. But we need to leave more bodies on the battlefield than in the jail cells, if you understand what I am saying. I didn't want to scare everyone downstairs; we can't afford to lose any fighters on our side. I am asking you to duel to kill tonight, not to maim. I am asking you to use the darkest magic there is, if it becomes necessary. I'll do my best to protect both of us, but I need you knowledge and your power tonight. Do you understand what I am asking of you, Bookworm?"

She stood up and met him at the window, her hands reaching up to his shoulders, forcing him to look her in the eye.

"You're asking me to lay aside pity and compassion tonight, and to allow the end to justify the means, no matter what. Am I correct in my understanding, Harry?"

Behind his glasses, emerald eyes filled with tears as he listened to those words pass her lips. Hermione, his beautiful, intelligent, brave friend. A friend who had stood by him all these years, who had seen so much death and grief. And here he was, asking her to witness even more, to commit sins he couldn't absolve her of, not entirely.

"Yes, love. I think history will judge our actions and see we fought for the Light, no matter the methods we use. But I can't promise that either of us will be the same after this. No matter what happens, though, I will always love you, Bookworm. Nothing can change that; what happened with Nott hasn't changed that, and what happens tonight won't change that. You and Ron were the first family I ever really had, and that bond is eternal, do you understand? I'm so, so sorry to ask this of you. Gods, I'm so sorry. If I could find anyone else, I swear it, I wouldn't ask this of you. But you're not only the brightest witch of our age, 'Mione, I think you're the most powerful. I need you. I'm sorry, but I need you."

She was quiet for several minutes, and Harry began to worry that she would walk out of the room, walk out of the war and out of his life. He was asking her to put aside everything that made her kindhearted and loving; all the good that made her stand up for underdogs like Neville, that made her fight for house elf rights. He was asking her to embrace the darkness she feared in herself, in order to bring down the darkest wizard in decades. He felt awful, but he also believe it to be entirely necessary. He couldn't kill Voldemort without this woman at his side.

"I'll do it, Harry. I'll do it. Azkaban would be worth it, death would be worth it. If people can live without fear, if children can keep their innocence for longer than we were allowed... then that's worth it. But Harry, I don't know if I can live with myself after that. I don't think I can come back here to Grimmauld Place, and live with you and Ron, knowing that I made a conscious decision to turn my back on the parts of myself that I hold the most dear. But I'll do it."

Strong arms wrapped around her, and she leaned into the embrace, already feeling the blankness fill her mind. She would need to turn off her conscience to do this, and she tried to fall into the feeling, tried to stop thinking about what would be asked of her tonight.

"I'm so sorry, love, I'm so sorry." Harry's fingers ran through her curls, and she felt his body shake with unrelenting sadness. "I am so sorry to burden you with this, Bookworm. I'm so, so sorry."

Pulling back from the hug, she wiped a tear away from his cheek. "We're short on time, Harry. We've got an hour before the Order regroups and we finalize all plans. We can deal with the consequences of all of this later. One hour is long enough to preform Imperare Imperium on both of us. Is that something you want to do?"

Wordlessly he nodded his head.

"Okay. I'll need you to collect the mud and water, and I'll clear space up here so we can preform the ritual here on the floor. Meet me back here in ten minutes, alright?"

"Alright." He turned to walk out the door, then ran back to her, engulfing her in a bruising embrace. "You and me, Bookworm. We're going to bring that bastard down." He released her and strode out of the room.

She fell to her knees on the floor, her legs unable to hold her weight any longer; her head rested in her arms as she gulped in oxygen, but her eyes were dry.


	12. Realities

How did the world get like this? In what conceivable universe were two people, not even out of their teens yet, thought to be capable of bringing down the darkest wizard in known history? Hermione's brain couldn't comprehend what she had just agreed to; it was ludicrous. 'Sure Harry, I'll become a murderer. You asked so nicely, how could I say no?'

Her head was spinning and this time it had nothing to do with her lack of sleep. One hour. One more hour before the Order began to finalize battle plans. One hour in which to preform Imperare Imperium on both herself and Harry. One hour to gather her thoughts and arm herself with whatever knowledge she could retain. Three hours until the showdown. Would Voldemort be expecting them? Were they walking into a trap?

Did it really matter?

Hard to say.

Would it change anything?

No.

Groaning, she pulled her feet from under her and stood, surveying the room. She needed more floorspace than this to draw the pentagram. With a flick of her hand she pushed the attic's clutter into a corner, and the camp chairs folded themselves and leaned against a nearby wall. Right, that's good. Now to gather the ingredients for the spell. She pictured her room on the third floor, locating the chalk, dagger, and cauldron in her mind, and wordlessly she called for them. Seconds later they appeared in the doorway, landing gently in her arms. Momentarily she considered summoning a flask of firewhiskey, but thought better of it. She had mentioned to Harry that her wordless and wandless magic had been positively affected by the Imperare Imperium spell, but she hadn't let on how much her skills had truly improved. Now that she knew Nott had been under the Imperius curse, and therefore had Voldemort's strength and power at his disposal, she didn't wonder if she would have been able to take Theo on his own.

He never had a chance.

Assessing her body, she realized that she did indeed feel less powerful today than she did earlier in the week. She knew that torturing Nott and using the Imperius curse on him would have drained the benefits of the strengthening spell, but she was surprised at how much she noticed the difference.

Contemplating her conversation with Harry just minutes before, she absentmindedly began piling Black family antiques and artifacts in another corner of the attic. She carrier piles of old photographs, a particularly ugly old vase, and a moth-eaten dress. Her fingers brushed across the binding of a very large, very old book, and she picked it up out of habit. Flipping it over, she searched the weathered leather cover for a title, but she couldn't find one. The binding proved elusive as well, so she gently blew the dust off the fore edge and carefully parted the spine, opening the tome to the title page.

Gasping, she read the almost illegible handwritten name aloud.

"Practical Magick and the Dark Arts."

Her arms were instantly covered with gooseflesh. In all the time she had been living at Grimmauld Place, she had not thought to look for books in the attic, and here was a very old, very Dark book right in front of her face. She could have kicked herself for overlooking such an obvious mistake. This book didn't even appeared to be cursed!

With extreme caution she flipped the page, again gasping as she realized the entire book was handwritten, all of the pages full of small, neat script. It would take her days to look through the collection, which was much more time than she had at her disposal. If only she could decide exactly what it was that she was looking for, she could narrow her search down quickly. She had been working on a spell for the past year that would reveal a particular spell in a book; it was a derived from Homenum Revelio, and the idea had actually come to her one night when she complained that magical books should have a search engine of some sort built into them. Ron was utterly baffled, not only at the word "engine" but "computer," "internet," and "webpage." He had shuttered at the idea of a world wide web - "What sort of creature from Hades requires a web that large?"

She quickly contemplated the sort of spells that might be necessary to fight Voldemort and his Death Eaters. She concentrated with all of her will, and it was as if a sudden wind appeared in the attic, opening the book to the page she needed. She shook her head, not understanding exactly what it was that she was seeing. The incantation wasn't in Latin; it wasn't even a derivative of the language. It was most certainly written in Greek, and the next page appeared to be a language related to Egyptian. Quickly she uttered Geminio and made a copy of the page, putting it to the side and concentrating on the next spell.

She had copied four spells that she hoped would prove helpful by the time Harry's footsteps could be heard on the stairs. She pocketed the copied parchment and met him at the doorway.

"Did you get the water and the mud?"

"Yes, and some sticks and twigs and such."

"Were they gathered from the same area as the soil?"

"Yes, Hermione, I do listen to you occasionally, you know."

"I know, I know. Did anyone see you? Did they ask what you were up to?"

"I stopped to speak to Oliver for a moment, but everyone else seemed pretty preoccupied. I don't think they noticed anything out of the ordinary."

Nodding, she bent over to draw a pentagram on the wooden floors, the chalk scraping over the dusty floorboards. When the star was complete, she sat cross-legged in the middle of it, placing the cauldron in front of her feet.

In her very best professor voice (one she had put to plenty of use during her many years assisting her friends with their homework at Hogwarts), she spoke. "Harry, I'm going to do the spell first so you can see it, and then you'll do it. Do you understand? You'll need to pay very close attention; there's no room for error in this sort of magic."

"I understand. I brought enough mud and water that I think we can make two stones each. I thought that may be a wise idea, just in case. We can take one stone now and bring the other with us tonight. Hopefully you won't need to use the third one, but I thought it would be good to have it as a backup. I wonder though; you said you can only use this spell three times during a lifetime, but does that mean you can only make three stones, or that you can only ingest three stones?"

Hermione paused for a moment, considering the question. "The spell wasn't specific; now that you ask, I would assume you can only ingest three stones. When you do the spell, the stone is created, but the magic isn't really utilized until you've swallowed it. But it doesn't really matter how many times you would make a stone, really; each witch or wizard must make their own stone. It's the individual's blood that acts as the catalyst. It would be dangerous to use another person's stone; the effect would be completely unpredictable, and quite possibly devastating."

"Well I think we should make two blood stones each, just in case."

"Blood stone, eh? That's what you've decided to call it? Doesn't sound very... magic-y to me." Hermione's nose wrinkled in distaste.

"Says the girl who used the word 'magic-y.' I don't think you're going to win this argument. Plus, you have to admit that blood stone sounds pretty wicked."

"Fine, you win this time, Harry, but mostly because I have no other name to call the... blood stone. Now hush up and watch me do the spell."

Harry smiled at his best friend's bossy tone, but he was quiet as a church mouse as he watched Hermione grab the mud, form it into a small dish, and add the water. He held back a hiss as he watched her drag the dagger across her wrist, drawing blood from deep within her veins. She allowed the sanguineous fluid to drip down her extended fingers into the vessel, and he watched, hypnotized, as the dark plasma filled the cup. Placing the dagger in her lap, she placed her right hand over the wound and he watched the cut seal itself. 'How on earth did she do that? Wandless and wordless healing spells... that's much more advanced than she let on.' His mind raced as he watched her, struggling to pay attention to the ritual. Hermione carefully laid the bit of twigs across the edge of the bowl and whispered "Incendio," watching the elements light on fire. He marveled as she created fire without using a wand; would he be allowed to use a wand when it was his turn? He wasn't as adept at wandless magic as his friend had obviously become.

Sucking in a deep breath she spoke the words, "Imperare sibi maximum imperium est." The fire surged, then extinguished itself. He watched as the elements spun quickly, shrinking upon themselves, compacting until all that was left was the blood stone. About the size and shape of a child's marble, it was smooth and as as crimson as the vital fluid it contained.

He watched as she repeated the ritual, creating her second stone. It was his turn now, and although he was relatively convinced he would be able to mimic her steps, his confidence waned when he considered the fire charm.

"Um, 'Mione, what if I can't do wandless magic as well as you?"

"Well, you could always use a match, if that makes you feel a bit more comfortable."

Well, that hurt a bit; he was not excepting her to suggest Muggle tools. "Where on earth are we going to find a match in this house, Hermione? Surely, the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black wouldn't dare allow such rubbish to defile its pure-blood solemnity." He snickered in derision, considering the television on the lower level, not to mention the Muggle-born witch and Half-blood wizard living within the walls of number 12 Grimmauld Place.

She gave him a rare smirk. "Ah, very good point, very good point indeed. I guess you're just going to have to concentrate, Mr. Chosen One."

She had told him there was no room for error in this spell; he felt his skin flush and realized just how warm it was in the attic. What would happen if he messed up?

"You can do this Harry, seriously. You have done much more powerful magic than this without a wand. Just clear your mind, picture the fire, and say the incantation."

He moved to the floor, sitting at the center of the pentagram. He slowly went through the motions of the spell, hesitating when it came time to light the elements on fire. He remembered trying to destroy a Horcrux with the spell; he had succeeded in producing fire non-verbally, but with the use of the wand. This was sort of like that, right?

Concentrating on the sound, smell, sight, and heat of fire, his voice commanded the flame into being, and there it was! It engulfed the sticks, and he drew in a full breath, clearly reciting the incantation as he exhaled. He knew that he had copied Hermione perfectly, but he was still quite surprised when he saw his own blood stone lying at his feet. He pocketed the bit of magic, repeating the spell once more, pleased when his second stone perfectly mirrored the first.

He looked over to Hermione for her approval, and was not at all surprised to find her nose buried in a rather massive book.

"Oi, Hermione. Were you even watching me? I did it!"

"Yes, Harry, you did very well. I knew you'd master the spell, I had no doubt in you." Her words were muffled; her eyes hadn't left the page.

"What's that you've got there?"

"It's a book of spells I found in that corner over there," she explained, pointing. "Very little of it is in English, at least not in any form that doesn't require quite a bit of deciphering. There are spells here in other languages, Harry. I mean, most spells are derived from some bit of Latin, but these are completely… other. There's Greek, some Egyptian, and I've been sussing out a particularly confusing passage which seems to be written in a Germanic language, but I'm not quite sure which one, as of yet. I don't have time to look over everything, so I've been concentrating on spells with specific results, and copying them."

"I can't turn away from you for a minute without you finding some book or another to get lost in, can I?" He shook his head, his black fringe covering his eyes momentarily. She made a mental note to make sure he got a hair cut sometime in the near future.

"It certainly doesn't seem likely," she teased.

"Well, have you found anything extraordinarily helpful in that massive monstrosity? Perhaps a bit about killing certain racist dark wizards who have a penchant for creating Horcruxes and general catastrophe?"

"Interestingly enough, there is not."

"The book is sort of rubbish, than, isn't it?" He tried to hide his smirk, but it was useless. He and Ron both got too much pleasure from teasing Hermione about her love of the written word, especially when those words had something to do with magic.

"Harry Potter, you should just be glad I'm helping you." She smacked his arm playfully.

"I am, Hermione. I really, really am." His voice was still casual but she could see by his expression that he was sincere. "I know I'm asking a lot of you, and I can't tell you how much it means to me that you trust me like this."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

Hermione thought for a moment before she spoke; it was important that she ask this in the right way, so as not to hurt her friend. "You know I trust you implicitly, but are you sure about this plan of yours? It just seems so... wrong. I wish there was an easier way to say that, but it's true. I know this is war, but you're asking me, and yourself, to kill instead of taking prisoners. That's something that totally goes against the Order's history and moral code. And then you tell me that we need to accomplish our goal 'by any means necessary.' The magic I've been delving into, Harry, it's Dark. Even the spell we just did would be considered Dark. I guess I'm just wondering if this what Dumbledore had planned for you? For this war?" She didn't want to hurt him, but she needed him to understand exactly what it was that he was asking of them. What would Dumbledore have said of their schemes? What about Sirius? What about Harry's own parents?

He knew the question was coming; he didn't doubt Hermione's loyalty or her bravery, but he knew this girl. He knew that she was loving, and kind, and compassionate; one of the most beautiful things about Hermione was her heart. And he was asking her to turn it aside, to break it.

"I know what I'm asking is unforgivable. I'm not sure what Dumbledore would say if he could see us now; I don't think he'd be exactly supportive of my methods, it's true. He always said it was our choices that show us who we are; same with Sirius, it always came down to what we chose to act on. But Hermione, they're both gone, and Dumbledore thought that You-Know-Who would be vulnerable when we destroyed the last of the Horcruxes. But the Horcruxes are gone, and he's still alive. He's still killing people, and we're still living every day in fear. All of wizarding England, and perhaps all of Europe, holds their breath. They're waiting for the other shoe to drop. They're all wondering who will be next. Will it be their house on fire this time? The next person who is killed – will it be someone they know? Someone they love? A son, or a daughter?" It was then that he decided he needed to tell her all of it; she had to know exactly what it was that he was asking of her.

"Hermione, do you believe in God? I know it's not something we've ever really talked about."

"I suppose you could say that I believe in the possibility of a higher power, whatever that means. I didn't believe in magic until I found out I was a witch, and I am unwilling to totally dismiss the idea of the divine. My grandmother was a deeply religious woman, and she insisted I attend church with her on Christmas and Easter, so I'm familiar with the basics of that belief system. Why do you ask?"

"Well, I didn't grow up with religion; I have no idea if the Dursley's had faith in anything spiritual; it wasn't exactly the sort of thing we discussed," he explained wryly. "But it seems to me that most religion comes down to Good and Evil, Light and Dark. Either you're for one or you're for the other, but no matter what, you are constantly gravitating towards an end of the spectrum. That isn't to say that you can't turn around, but moral ambiguity seems like it's off the table . We fight for the Light. But I have faced the You-Know-Who so many times now, Bookworm. The idea of facing him again and not defeating him … I can't even fathom it, to be honest. Since I was eleven, I've been 'the Boy Who Lived.' 'The Chosen One.' It's my entire life, besides you and Ron, and the Weasleys. I've destroyed the Horcruxes, with help, of course. When we fought at Hogwarts, I tried to disarm him while he tried to kill me. I didn't even consider cursing him. But he's the Darkest wizard there is; I don't know if he'll be felled by a disarming spell this time. And I just don't know how our world will survive if he gets away again. Our side gets smaller and smaller as time goes by, and his side gets more and more dangerous." He paused to swallow; he hated to have to tell her the realities of his plan, but she needed to know. "From what I gather of Christianity, Christ gave his life as a sacrifice to save people, is that right?"

She nodded. "Yeah, that's the idea, at least from what I've picked up."

"I suppose what I'm asking is that we be the sacrifices this time. I don't mean that we lay down our lives, of course. But I'm asking the both of us to sacrifice our innocence, our Lightness, for the cause. Regardless of what happens afterwards, we'll be able to say that we did every single thing that we could to defeat this monster. And yes, it will change us forever, and you're right, we'll never be the same. And maybe we won't be able to look at ourselves afterwards, or each other. But I have to believe that the sacrifice will be worth it, if we can put a stop to this fear. I wish I knew a better way. But I've gone over this so many times in my head, and I can't think of another way that love, or loyalty, or good thoughts or whatever will win this war. I'm pretty sure Dumbledore would hate my plan, and I think he'd do his best to talk me out of it. I think Sirius would believe me to be misguided and reckless. But I don't see another way around this. I don't know what happens after we die, 'Mione. Maybe our souls do live on, and this is just the beginning of our journey. Maybe we are judged, and punished for our actions in this lifetime. I dunno. All I know is that I can accept the damnation if it means that Ron and Ginny stay alive. I will welcome the punishment if it means that another child doesn't have to grow up living in the shadow of the Dark Lord. So yeah, this is a shit plan. No part of it is good, or smart. I have no idea what we'll run into once we get to the Manor. But I will fight and kill those who stand between me and our freedom. If you need to back out now, I understand. I have accepted my fate, Bookworm. Come what may, either the Dark Lord dies tonight, or I do. And I don't plan on dying."

The silence that followed was thick with uncertainty. Harry's cards were all on the table. Would Hermione understand his reasons for going against everything he had ever been taught? Would she be able to make this sacrifice with him? A part of him wished that she would turn and walk away; he hated himself for asking this of her. But it was the only way he could see out of this hell.

Hermione's hand reached for his, and she pulled him into a hug. In that moment, he knew what her answer would be.

"Thank you for being honest with me, Harry; I understand, now. You can count on me. But if it's at all possible, can we keep this between ourselves for the time being? I can't imagine looking at Ron, knowing he knows what we're planning on doing tonight. He'll find out the truth soon enough, but I like the way he looks at me. And I'd like to hold onto that for the next two hours, if that's alright."

"Of course." His heart was beating rapidly; he was at once thrilled that she had reaffirmed her commitment to him, and devastated that she would surely be broken by the events of this fateful night. But there was no turning back now.

Pulling away, he reached into his pocket and drew out a blood stone. "Shall we?"

Nodding, she reached for her own stone. Together they swallowed the magic and walked downstairs towards their friends, and the inevitable.


	13. Ready?

It was three minutes to five o'clock, and the majority of the Order was already seated at the kitchen table. Looking around, Hermione noticed Bill and Fleur were absent, and she could hear Neville using the floo on the first floor to speak to who could only be his grandmother. She had heard the words "Nevy," "so proud," and "give 'em hell," as she made her way down the stairs.

'I can do this. I'm cool, calm, and collected. I am not preparing to kill people tonight, I am simply sitting down for a meeting with the Order. Totally normal.' Try as she might, it was incredibly difficult to clear her mind of the night's fore-casted ruinations. On top of that, it was hard to clear her mind of the previous night's destructiveness. This wouldn't go down as Hermione's best week ever.

Catching Ron's eye, she moved to sit down next to him at the long table. 'Look, I'm sitting by Ron like nothing's wrong. Just an Order meeting with my pseudo-boyfriend who I love and occasionally have sex with but can't commit to; totally normal. He doesn't suspect that I'm going to get all Avada-happy. Nope' She giggled inappropriately and caught Ron frowning in confusion. 'Stop randomly laughing, Hermione. Need to keep it together. Need coffee. Or a nap.' Her red-headed beau wrapped an arm around her waist and planted a kiss on her cheek. "Do you have any plans tomorrow, love?"

She blushed at his affectionate gesture as well as his words. If he knew what she and Harry had been discussing in the attic, there was no way he'd want to even share a room with her. "I'm planning on there actually BEING a tomorrow, but other than that, no, no plans to speak of."

"Well, I happen to KNOW there's going to be a tomorrow, and if you're not busy, I would like to cordially invite you to this very kitchen for dinner. I will be preparing my gourmet specialty, grilled cheese. If you play your cards right, there may even be a chocolate frog with your name on it for dessert. Would the lady care to join me?"

"What sort of lady would I be to refuse such a tempting offer as that, good sir?" She knew she shouldn't be playing along with him, but he was being too damn cute. And as she told Harry, she really, really liked the way he looked at her. She was going to soak up all the affection he'd give her; it wouldn't last long. Maybe that made her a bad person, but…

His hand sneaked beneath the table and on to her thigh, squeezing it twice. She leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed. Did she truly have to give this up? They fit together so lovely, so easily. In fact, it would be the easiest thing in the world to be with this man, to marry him, and to raise children with him. 'Just because it's easy doesn't mean it's right,' she reminded herself.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the emergence of Bill and Fleur, both looking very disheveled. Bill appeared quite flustered; his long hair was thoroughly tousled, and his shirt was one button off. If one were unable to suss out their recent carnal activity from the transparent physical clues, than Bill's apparent newfound interest in the carpet, kitchen table, and his own fingers made it obvious. Fleur's face was one of unabashed satisfaction as she made eye contact with everyone in the room, daring someone to question where they had been or what they had been doing.

'Stop it. You're not jealous of Bill and Fleur. Just because they obviously had amazing 'we're-about-to-die-so-let's-shag-each-other's-brains-out sex' doesn't mean that you get to be jealous.' No matter how many times Hermione told herself this, she couldn't help feeling more than a little bitter every time she caught a glimpse of Fleur's flushed post-coital glow. What if she did die tonight? That morning's intimacies with Ron had been amazing, but now she was desperately wishing for a repeat.

"'Mione."

No, a repeat would be a terrible idea. No matter how good Ron smelled right now. Or how tingly she felt, especially in her nether regions.

"'Mione!"

But then again... if this was the last day of their lives, did it really matter? They'd already indulged once today…

"'Mione!"

"Huh?" How long had Ron been trying to get her attention?

He leaned down to whisper in her ear, "I don't mean to embarrass you, love, but it's becoming increasingly obvious what's on your mind."

She shot straight up in her seat, blushing furiously. "And how exactly would you know what's on my mind, Ronald?"

"Well, you can't stop sharing at Bill and Fleur. But that wasn't what gave it away. Look down, love."

Gasping, she saw that she had subconsciously moved his hand from her thigh allll the way up to her...

"Merlin! I am so sorry, Ron, I don't know what's come over me. After this morning in your room, and the lack of sleep, and then Mr. and Mrs. Shagtastic walked in... Gods, I am SO embarrassed!"

His laughter rumbled deep within his chest as he brazenly grazed his fingers over her core before slowly moving his hand down to her knee. "There will be plenty of time for that, believe me."

"You're evil," she hissed, clenching her teeth. Her face may as well stay red now, because there was no way she was ever going to live this down. She looked around the room to see if anyone had noticed her dirty dalliance. No one seemed to be looking their way. She breathed a sigh of relief.

A voice way too close to her laughed. "Oh yeah, I definitely saw that. Never knew you were such a naughty bird, Granger. Now I know exactly what my brothers saw in your all that time."

"George Weasley, if you tell a soul I swear I will give you a matching set of ears." She hadn't even noticed the man seated on the other side of her! This couldn't get worse, unless Mrs. or Mr. Weasley had somehow noticed her forcing Ron to stroke her through her jeans.

"Stand down, little one. I won't tell a soul about your very wily, wanton ways. We'll keep this between the three of us: ickle Ronniekins, you, and me." He paused. "Gods, that sounded wrong; did NOT mean it to come out like that. Consider it forgotten. And forget what I just said." He shuddered.

No, she would never stop blushing. She hid her face in her hands. How long had she been awake? Thirty-two, thirty-three hours? Yes, she was tired, but that was no excuse to completely lose her filter. When was this bloody meeting going to start?

"I think we're all here now, so how about we get down to business." Yes! Saved by the Chosen One. Ten points to Gryffindor.

Harry cleared his throat. "We've spent the better part of the day going over battle tactics and dueling and formations, so unless you've lost your appetites, which is understandable, you're all probably starving. Not to mention anxious, apprehensive, and scared. Or is it just me?" He smiled.

"Scared, yes, lost my appetite, no," Ron's voice tickled her ear. Of course Ron was hungry. It really would have to be the end of the world for him to miss a meal.

"I propose that we go over the plans and then eat up, unless there are any objections? No? Okay."

With a flick of his wand, Harry created a smoky model of the Nott Manor and grounds once more on the table.

"Right. So the Manor backs up onto a small wood; we plan on using that to our advantage. We've got the two ground assault teams; Hermione, your team will be coming in through the front door, as it were. The air team will be flanking your position, seeing as you'll be walking straight into the dragon's pit. Kingsley, your team will approach from the east, through the wood. As I said before, Luna, you're the medic for Hermione's team, and Fleur, you'll be working with Kingsley's team." Fleur locked eyes with Bill; she wouldn't be the medic for his group. That was probably a good thing, of course, because her attention would sharper if she wasn't on the lookout for her husband. However, the idea of being separated from him was still painful. "First and foremost, ladies, I want you to be on your guard. You will see your fair share of fighting, I'm sure, but I want you to be available to help the injured. If I didn't mention it earlier… did I mention it earlier? Anyway. We're not going to be able to Apparate the injured off the battlefield; there aren't enough of us, and Apparating back in the middle of combat is simply too dangerous. If someone is injured, cast a Disillusionment Charm on them and levitate them to a safe area." Luna and Fleur nodded their understanding.

"So. We'll be Apparating about a half kilometer north of the grounds, just outside of the wards."

"Um, Harry? How exactly are we going to get through the wards?" Neville had a point.

"Well, I have a few ideas. Theo Nott should have been able to cross the wards, unless they've been changed. Hopefully, the Death Eaters haven't thought that far ahead. If we have a bit of his blood, I think we'll be able to force the wards down long enough for us to get through." Hermione shuddered at the thought of Theo. So. Apparently Harry had thought ahead and collected his blood. The idea made her want to vomit. "If that doesn't work, we have Hermione. She's brilliant at wards, and I think she'll be able to take care of them. Of course, there's always the real possibility that Mr. Dark and Evil himself will be expecting us, and has simply removed the wards entirely."

Across the table, Hermione saw Luna shiver. They weren't counting on the element of surprise, but it would be excellent if it happened to fall into their laps. Still, the thought of Voldemort waiting for them to make their move was nothing less than positively chilling.

"Once we're past the wards, we'll fly to the appropriate spot. Hermione, you'll ride with Dean, and Molly, you'll ride with Bill. Luna, you can either ride with Neville or by yourself; I know you're not a huge fan of broomsticks, but whatever you'd prefer."

Luna looked across the table at Neville. "I think I'll ride with you, if that would be okay?" There was a faint blush about Neville's cheek as he nodded his consent.

Harry smiled; Hermione had mentioned that Neville may have a bit of a crush on dear Luna. Maybe she was right.

"Ron, would you like to take over now, mate?"

Hermione watched the youngest Weasley boy stand and walk to the head of the table. She was still surprised by how much Ron had changed since Hogwarts. That day he left them during the Horcrux hunt had deeply wounded her; she had asked herself over and over again how could she feel such affection for a boy who couldn't even stand by his friends. Those nights that she cried, so many, many nights, she cried not only because he was gone, but because she still cared for him, even after his betrayal. It was a frightening, dependent sort of love. When he had found them once again, it was months before she could fully forgive him. He had done his best to earn it, though. His loyalty was stronger than ever, and she was so proud to see him as the man he was today.

Ron Weasley stood in front of the Order looked nothing short of a leader. His entire demeanor spoke of confidence and preparation. The Order was lucky to have member with such a strategic mind.

Guess that predilection towards wizard's chess paid off.

"As we all know, the main goal tonight is to take down the evil Snake-Bastard. This means we not only need to capture as many Death Eaters as possible, but that we need to clear the way for Harry and Hermione to get to said evil Snake-Bastard and take that son of a bitch down. Here's now we do it…."

* * *

It was a quarter to seven, and almost everything was in place. Hermione's team and Kingsley's team were both squared away on their offensive strategy, and Oliver's air assault team had worked out their flying maneuvers hours ago. The world they knew had fifteen minutes left until its inevitable demise, for surely nothing would be the same the minute they Apparated outside the wards of Nott Manor.

Hermione had swallowed three cups of coffee and sipped some of the Wit-Sharpening Potion Professor McGonagall passed around. How was she supposed to prepare herself for this? One thing was for sure – she needed a moment along with Ron before things got too crazy.

Where was he? She wandered from room to room, but he wasn't with his family members or friends. She checked his room and found it empty. Taking the stairs two at a time, she searched the floors of number 12 Grimmauld Place, but he was nowhere to be found. She opened the door to the attic and called his name. She heard him respond, so she went to investigate. The attic was empty. She called for him again, and heard his voice coming from outside. "Ahh, he's on the roof!"

Harry hadn't known of the rooftop access at 12 Grimmauld Place until well after Sirius had passed. When he did find it, it was by mistake, really. They had been bringing storage up to the attic to clear out the bedrooms, and he was merely looking for a place to throw some junk. While rearranging some things, he happened upon a door. It was then that he really noticed the roof! It wasn't visible from the front of the house (the peaked roof off the front hid it from street view), but it was quite a large expanse.

It was here she found Ron, standing and looking out upon the neighborhood, hands buried deep in the pockets of his denims.

"Hey." She nudged him with her shoulder. He turned and gave her a slight smile, but she couldn't figure out exactly what it meant.

"Hey, 'Mione."

"So this is it, I guess." What do you say at a time like this? All she wanted was to tell him that she loved him, that she would always love him, and that she was sorry. She was sorry for the things she had to do tonight, and she was sorry that she would have to leave him. It was now that she realized that she wouldn't simply have to break things off with Ron; she would truly have to leave him alone, or they'd never get over one another.

Wow. That was a bloody horrible realization.

He cleared his throat and grabbed for her hand. "We're going to be okay, 'Mione."

What did he mean by that? That they were going to survive? That they would be together, after everything? Or that he'd accept whatever happened between them?

"I hope so, Ron."

Turning to face him, she lifted her hands to cup his scruffy cheeks. Slowly she kissed him, trying to put all of her thoughts and wishes and hopes for him into the pressing of her lips against his. He kissed her back just as tenderly, running his fingers through her curls. The cool May air whipped around them, and she could smell Spring in the air. It smelled like honeysuckle, rain, and new beginnings. Their world, their childhood, was ending.

A new world would take its place.

Wordlessly she again took his hand and and held it as she walked him back into the house, and down the stairs. It was time. When they reached the kitchen where the rest of the Weasleys, not to mention Luna and Neville, had congregated, they broke the connection.

"Where's Harry?" she asked, trying to keep her voice light and neutral.

"I think he went outside," Ginny replied, her eyes wistfully tracking to the door.

Hermione excused herself. She found her friend sitting outside on the front steps.

"Well, Harry. Everything sounds like goodbye right now, and that's just not right. Are you ready?"

His green eyes fixed onto hers and she was taken aback at the fire found therein. "I'm ready, Hermione. Gods, am I ready. You remember our plan, yeah? It's you and me, Bookworm. Let's get those bastards; let's take them down for my parents, and Sirius, and Lupin, and Tonks, and Dumbledore, and Fred, and Moody, and for every other bloody good person who was massacred at their hands."

Hermione felt her earlier light spirit dropping; it was just her and Harry now, and she was thankful that she didn't need to pretend at all around him, now. He knew what she had done, and what she would do in just a few short minutes.

"I said goodbye to Ron. Not in so many words, but still. I'm not coming back to Grimmauld Place, Harry."

"I know."

"And I'm not going to the Burrow."

"I know."

"Okay."

He reached over to squeeze her hand, then released it to stand. Wordlessly he walked back into the house, and she was alone. She felt the sudden emptiness fill her again, that blankness she had drawn on when she was questioning Nott. She put aside the sadness of leaving Ron, Harry, and the rest of her friends. She put away thoughts of the future, what would happen when all of this ugliness was over and done, left on the lawn of Nott Manor. Instead she thought of George and Fred, laughing together. George and Fred, teasing her at Hogwarts with their silly pranks. George and Fred, finishing one another's sentences.

And then George, alone, crying over Freddie's grave. George, unable to walk into his old room. Molly, in her kitchen, unable to cook, just watching the clock with her family's names and statuses displayed proudly. How Fred's clock hand was now permanently set on "Lost," the eyes in his photograph forever closed. She thought of Ginny, so fiery with rage, volunteering for dangerous mission after dangerous mission, wanting to avenge her brother's death.

And Hermione thought of Ron, oscillating between despairing grief, uncontrollable vengeance, and an insatiable appetite for her very personal method of comfort. She thought of the mornings she'd find find his side of the bed empty but still warm, the pillow wet with his tears.

She allowed herself to be filled with anger and an uncontrollable need for justice. She didn't fight the darkness, when it came. Instead, she wrapped it around herself like a warm blanket. This was what she needed, this is what would get her through the next few hours. It was like the incantation said: Imperare sibi maximum imperium est. To rule oneself is the ultimate power.

The magic crackled and buzzed through her limbs. Tonight, she would embrace her darker instincts, the shadow in her soul.

She was ready.


	14. Ramparts

It was exactly four minutes until seven o'clock. Hermione made her way into the kitchen where the rest of the Order of the Phoenix waited. She took her place next to Harry, purposefully standing away from Ron. She said her goodbye to him on the roof.

She knew if Ron looked in her eyes right now, he'd know at least some of her secrets. She could hide her current state of mind from most of the Order, but not Ron. He'd know she had something planned. There was no way she'd be able to fool him, not now.

Patting her robes, she located the copied parchment from the attic. She had quickly looked over the spells just minutes before, and had a fair idea of what they did. She had attempted to memorize the most pertinent spells, and was fairly confident in her ability to preform them, if need be.

Hopefully it wouldn't come to that. Untested spells could prove dangerous, as anyone could tell you.

She could feel Ron's eyes on her. If she just looked up, she'd melt into those azure pools. It would be so easy; effortless, really. She could walk over to him, throw her arms around his neck and kiss the hell out the boy. They'd fight the Death Eaters together, and she'd do her best to defeat Voldemort. She'd disarm, contain, and harm, but not kill. She wouldn't be a murderer. Maybe she'd be able to put the last two months behind her. Maybe she could be with Ron, and have the life she wanted.

And then she remembered what Harry had said.

"We need to leave more bodies on the battlefield than in the jail cells... we can't afford to lose any fighters on our side. I am asking you to duel to kill tonight, not to maim. I am asking you to use the darkest magic there is, if it becomes necessary."

She looked around the room, careful to keep her eyes moving quickly, as not to make contact with anyone. She mentally sorted out the good fighters and the not so good fighters. Most of the Weasleys could hold their own in a fight, but there was a possibility that George might seize up in battle; he hadn't been truly tested since Fred died. Being surrounded by Death Eaters once more may render him catatonic, for all anyone knew.

Percy Weasley was mostly rubbish at dueling, but what he lacked in precision he made up for in intensity. Hermione was always surprised to see the passion that accompanied his dueling; it was as if he was trying to make up for all those years he stood against Harry and his family.

Kingsley and Professor McGonagall were master duelists, so there was no concern there. Dean had held his own against Dolohov during the Battle of Hogwarts, so that had to mean something. Hermione was a bit concerned that he tended to use the same defensive spells over and over, which made his strategy easy to guess and out-maneuver. But at least he was capable of preforming a truly powerful Full Body-Bind Curse, and that was something.

Her eyes landed on Neville, and she smiled. Neville was actually an excellent person to have in the Order; he was resourceful and his dueling had improved remarkably since he had joined Dumbledore's Army back in Fifth Year. His true weakness was his own self-confidence; although he had proven himself many times over, especially during his seventh year at Hogwarts when he'd made life hell for the Carrows, he suffered from quite a bit of self-doubt. There was no reason for it. It was a weakness, one that could cost him dearly if he let down his guard at the wrong moment.

Luna was a powerful witch, but she lost concentration easily, leaving herself open for attack. She was made a medic because she was more than adept at healing charms; it would also (hopefully) keep her out of the most dangerous parts of the battle. Hermione often thought that Luna's incessant belief that people are naturally good at heart was the real reason Luna had difficulties casting powerful defensive curses.

And then there was Hagrid, Professor Sprout, Oliver, and Lee. Hagrid hadn't been allowed to graduate Hogwarts, and it greatly affected his ability to do magic. Harry had given him a wand months earlier; it had been found in an abandoned village, just hours after the small town had been sacked by Death Eaters. Harry had tried to work with Hagrid on defensive spells, but the half-giant couldn't seem to master even simple spells. He hadn't been able to complete his third year at Hogwarts, and it seemed his magical ability became stunted at that age. His physical attributes made him a formidable opponent when it came to hand-to-hand combat, but he was a target in any battle, especially when one factored in his size.

Professor Sprout was a Herbologist professor through and through. She had been helpful in the Battle of Hogwarts, when she and the students threw Snargaluff pods and Venomous Tentaculas on unsuspecting Death Eaters. 'Herbology skills wouldn't help much tonight,' thought Hermione.

Oliver and Lee had both fought in the Battle of Hogwarts, and survived. That meant something. Both were excellent fliers (Oliver, especially), and Hermione hoped they'd largely stay out of harm's way if they kept to the air. On the ground... she wasn't so sure.

Doing a quick calculation, she realized that she was absolutely certain of half the group's ability to handle themselves in a a fight.

Which meant she had doubts about the other half.

That wasn't good.

That was it then. There would be no backing down from Harry's plan. She knew very few members of the Order would aim to kill, and even if they were evenly matched with the Death Eaters, they were in trouble. If there were more than twenty Death Eaters at Nott Manor (not to mention Voldemort himself), the chances of one of the members of the Order dying tonight were high.

It was a risk that Hermione couldn't take. She would be the one to kill the enemy, to even the odds.

Okay. No melting into Ron's blue eyes. No more sappy fantasies of happily ever after.

She shook her head, attempting to clear it once more. The feelings running through her were scattered and overwhelming. The idea of taking a life was grotesque and horrifying. 'This isn't a decision to be made with emotions,' she told herself. 'Logically, this needs to be done. So it will be.'

She carefully put aside her emotions as if they could simply be folded and stored in a wardrobe, like clothing. Glancing down at the parchment she still held, she quickly repeated the most important spells in her head once more, mentally sifting through those that required a wand and those that didn't. Swish, flick. Swish, flick. She could do this. Although she really only had a vague idea what some of the spells actually did, it would have to be enough.

Pocketing the paper, she straightened herself, throwing back her shoulders. As much as she tried to clear her mind and concentrate on what needed to be done tonight, she couldn't slow down her breathing. Each breath was coming out in tiny gasps; she hoped no one noticed. She needed them to believe in her if she was to lead a team. Mentally she made her way through the multiplication tables; that always calmed her down. Numbers were constant, and they were the same in the Muggle world and the wizarding world. 3 x 3 is 9. 3 x 4 is 12. 3 x 5 is 15.

Harry reached for her hand, grabbing it and squeezing it twice before releasing it once more. Could he feel her trembling?

The Boy Who Lived wasn't shaking. He wasn't even breathing hard. His face was one of perfect control. This was the night Fate had been pushing him towards since the night his parents died.

He was ready.

"It's 6:59. I've shown you all exactly where we will be Apparating. I know most of you have not been there, but I have. Picture the exact location I showed you." Harry's ability in Occlumency and Legilimency had grown by leaps and bounds over the year. Tonight he had been able to project an image of the forest outside of Nott Manor into each of their minds. Hermione knew it was the power of the blood stone that allowed him to accomplish this most recent feat. She had never seen him preform such powerful magic.

"On the count of five. Five, four, three, two, one."

The collective group turned in place, and vanished.

* * *

Seven p.m. May 19th, 1999. The date that changed the world.

The sky was still light; the sun set after eight this time of year. The ground was not wet, but there was the faint smell of rain in the air. Looking down to the forest floor beneath her, Hermione saw a daffodil just beginning to open. She knelt down to brush the bud with her fingertips. Even closed, the bright yellow was stunning. The brilliant shade seemed out of place on a night such as this.

"The daffodil is a symbol of rebirth. That's a very good omen, you know." Luna's voice came from Hermione's right, and she smiled at the innocent blonde girl. Wordlessly Luna waved her wand over the flower, and it opened before their eyes, its petals peeling back slowly. "We could all use a new beginning."

Hermione nodded, unable to speak. Her response wasn't necessary, though, as Harry had just clapped his hands to draw the attention of the group.

"You all know the plan, so I'm not going to go over it again. If you are in need of medical attention and capable of doing so, raise your wand above your head and shoot white sparks as a signal. Fleur or Luna will assist you to the best of their ability. If you see a Member in need of medical attention, shoot the sparks above the person injured. Remember, Hermione and I need to be able to get to You-Know-Who as quickly as possible. We don't know if we're going to have the element of surprise, so don't assume that we do. We don't know how many Death Eaters will be there tonight; we're hoping for no more than thirty, but there may be more. Remember what I said earlier: you can aim to disarm and capture, but if it comes down to you or them, you duel to maim or kill. Do we understand one another?"

They all nodded in unison, a cohesive unit for the time being.

"All right. Those of you with brooms, get them out now."

There was quite a bit of rustling as the fliers removed the tiny brooms from their robes and charmed them back to their original sizes. Hermione quickly tied her hair up in a bun, pushing back the soft tendrils threatening to impede upon her vision. She found Dean, her flying partner, and slid behind him on the broom, resting her hands on his hips. She mentally prepared to leave the ground, her stomach already sick at the very idea of flight. Glancing over at Neville and Luna, who also shared a broom, she tried to distract herself with the picture of Neville's bright red cheeks and Luna's hands linked firmly around his waist.

"As soon as the wards break, we attack. Before that happens, though, I want to let you all know how very proud I am of all of you." The Chosen One's emerald eyes were watery, and his jaw was tight with emotion. "I have never met a braver group of individuals. Remember who it is we are fighting for; remember those on our side who gave their lives for the cause. Remember those families torn apart by Death Eater raids. Remember the Muggles from King's Cross; those tiny, innocent schoolchildren who had nothing to do with this war. Tonight is the night it ends, my dear friends. The first round of pints is on me."

And that was that. Harry slowly walked forward, his hands in front of him, searching for the edge of the wards. Hermione crossed her fingers, hoping he would find them intact. If the wards were up, Voldemort may not be expecting them.

Although no one could see the wards, they knew Harry had found them when his fingertips pressed hard against what appeared to be simply thin air. Reaching into his pocket, he found a vile of maroon liquid. He removed the stopper, and sprinkled the coagulated blood onto the invisible walls. There was a pulse of light, and his fingers moved past the previous guards. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief, except for Hermione, would only felt nausea at the sight of Theodore Nott's blood.

Without another word, Harry mounted his broom and took to the sky. The rest of the Air Assault Team took off behind him, Oliver taking point. They would be attacking from the north, joining up with Hermione's team which would be coming from the west. Kingsley's team would (hopefully) surprise the Death Eaters from the forest, to the east of Nott Manor.

The rest of the Order of the Phoenix followed Harry's lead, their broomsticks quickly leaving the ground far below.

It was time.

* * *

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Oh fuck." Hermione knew she was supposed to be clearing her mind and mentally preparing herself for the battle, but did they REALLY have to be twenty meters above the ground right now?

She felt a deep rumbling in front of her. Dean turned his head back towards the anxious girl. "Are you really that scared of flying, or is it the battle?"

"Oh Dean, I'm so sorry, I didn't realize I said that aloud! Erm, it's pretty much the flying. The fighting can't be helped, but the flying... it's unnatural." Her eyes were squeezed tight; she didn't want to look at the ground unless absolutely necessary.

Even though she couldn't see his face, she could tell the handsome Gryffindor was smiling. "Hermione Granger, many would say that all magic is unnatural. For instance, pretty much every Muggle. How is it that flying bothers you so much?"

She laughed nervously. "Just does, I suppose." She knew she could have explained it more, but her stomach was threatening to empty itself, so talking seemed like a bad idea.

They were almost there. The grounds of Nott Manor spread out below them, and she could just see the main house in the distance. As they got closer she saw the Manor rise up from the hillside, large and imposing. She flashed back to the room off the kitchen at Grimmauld Place. Nott, tied to a chair, water pouring out of his mouth. She recalled him choking on the liquid, the evidence of her torture fleeing his body. His eyes rolling back in his head as he struggled to hold onto consciousness. She recalled the visions he had shown her.

This was most certainly the place.

They set down on the sprawling lawn, quickly shrinking the brooms and pocketing them, a hand on their wands. The grounds were empty.

Voldemort didn't know they were coming.

Hermione motioned for her team to fall into formation. She would lead the group, followed by Bill and Professor McGonagall, and then Molly and Luna. Dean and Neville would bring up the rear of the formation. She slowly walked forward towards the Manor, then stopped suddenly as a scary thought ran through her mind. What if Voldemort knew they were coming, and was pretending to be unaware? What if he was the one who removed the wards?

Lifting her wand, she spoke the words clearly, choosing to cast the spell verbally, as to give her team a moment's notice of what she suspected. "Homenum Revelio!"

The veil was lifted.

Hermione's small team was surrounded by no less than twenty Death Eaters. Oliver's team was nowhere in sight.

Oh fuck.


	15. Riot

"Protego Horribilis!"

The world had become light, and sound, and fire. All around them curses soared, but none found their marks.

There were twenty-two Death Eaters surrounding the seven members of the Order of the Phoenix. Twenty-two wands pointed at seven faces.

This was very, very bad.

"I can't hold the shield much longer. Keep your formation! Don't let your back get exposed! Hit them hard! We can't afford to simply disarm them, they'll win in a physical fight!" Hermione felt the words leave her throat but she couldn't even remember thinking them; they were just there, streaming from her lips, commanding and authoritative.

'This is it. No prisoners, just bodies. Think of them as bodies, not people.' It was hard to process the thought. These WERE people; no matter how evil thy were, some had families, and all had SOMEONE who would miss them, she was sure of it.

But this was The Plan, hers and Harry's. He had explained to her exactly what needed to happen tonight, and why. While her emotional brain was screaming 'No! This is wrong!' her logical brain understood that a world with one less Death Eater was a better world. A world with ten less Death Eaters?

Even better.

Putting aside her apprehension and guilt, she pointed her wand at the first Death Eater she saw. He was very tall, at least 187 centimeters, maybe more. She thought she recognized his mask; it looked like a skull, like many of the Death Eater masks, but it didn't cover all of his face, just his eyes. Medium brown hair hung around it, limp and filthy looking. This pathetic excuse for a human being was definitely an old friend of Voldemort's; Hermione remembered seeing the same mask at the Department of Mysteries. He wasn't a new recruit.

"NOW!" The shield dissolved, the protection gone. She flicked her wand at her enemy, casting a powerful non-verbal curse. He dodged it. Again she struck, and he deflected the spell.

'Fine. I'll do this the right way.' She concentrated all of her hatred at the faceless man, imaging him to be Voldemort himself.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The green light shot from her wand, hitting the body straight in its chest. Down it went, crumpling on the grass, a rag doll discarded.

Next.

Another body charged her, this one with a shock of blonde hair behind its mask. She'd bet her personal library that it was Thorfinn Rowle. An involuntary shudder rippled down her body. Rowle was known for his cruelty and sadistic love of torture.

She saw the lips form the first syllable of the Killing Curse.

It was a good thing she was faster.

Down, down the blonde hair fell, meeting the green of the hill. The contrast was almost beautiful, the silky strands mixing with the blades of grass.

"They're casting Killing Curses only! Split up, we can't risk a curse missing someone and hitting another Member! Keep an eye on each others six! Let's go!"

Just then she saw the figures on brooms. She couldn't look too closely for fear of being hit by a curse in a moment of distraction, but she was pretty sure it was Oliver's team.

The war cry she heard confirmed it. Thank Merlin, the cavalry had arrived.

It was with a renewed passion that she released the green death from her length of willow. Again and again it hit its target. She had taken five bodies from the battle in her attempts to even the score.

She took her concentration off the melee in front of her to survey the scene. According to her count, there should be seventeen Death Eaters left, and thirteen members of the Order of the Phoenix.

She still didn't like those odds.

"HERMIONE!" The shout came from close by, but she couldn't pinpoint the location.

A flash of green.

She hit the ground, hard. Her neck snapped back and her vision blurred. Above her, the sky was streaked with orange and pink, the sunlight fading. Again she was struck by the beauty, juxtaposed with so much death.

But she wasn't dead.

Well, that was a good thing.

Looking down at her hands, empty without her wand, she noticed the red of Ronald Weasley's hair next to her.

"Oh gods, Ron, NO! No no no no no… please no, please don't die Ron, please." Her brain registered only full-blown panic. Rational thought? What's that?

Blue eyes met brown. A strangled cough.

"Not dead. Crushed. You're laying on my chest."

Hermione slapped the smart ass wizard, scrambling off him. She hugged him tightly, drawing him up to stand. "I thought I lost you. I… I don't…."

"It's okay, love, I'm alright. But he's not."

They looked at the Death Eater at their feet. Even with his mask covering any discernible features, it was obvious he was dead. His left hand hung limply across his chest, his right hand lay in the dirt, his wand cast aside.

Ron looked sick. He had never killed anyone before, hadn't even considered actually casting the Killing Curse, no matter what. But he had seen the telltale sparks just barely emitting from the Death Eater's wand, and that was that. He had flung himself towards Hermione, pushing her out of the way and dragging her to the ground with him. The lethal words departed his throat effortlessly. The emerald spell left his wand in such a natural way, and the Death Eater had dropped like a stone in the sea.

"It's just a body Ron. One less body to fight. I've taken care of five already. If we're keeping score, I'm winning."

He didn't know what to say to that.

Hermione pushed him away, returning to the chaos, steeling herself for battle once more. Emotions in check, she struck the enemy from behind this time, not caring that some may consider that cowardice.

The battlefield was a discotheque, lights flashing and crashing around them, the percussion of curses hitting their mark the beat. She was all logic, all reason. Find your mark, take the shot. They're not people, they're bodies. Bodies to be broken, bodies to be buried. This is how war is won, one fallen body at a time. One less threat, one less Dark wizard. One less thing to fear.

She could feel her power waning. She was unsure of the exact rules of the blood stone. If she Avada'd a Death Eater who was firing curses at her, was that defensive? If she cursed them before they had a chance to curse her back, was that offensive? It was hard to figure out, especially in the midst of the surrounding bedlam. She decided the best way to hold onto the power of the Imperare Imperium was to help her friends; if she was defending her friends, that would obviously appease the spell.

She spotted Dean fighting a particularly adept wizard; the tall Gryffindor was deflecting the spells with difficulty, it was obvious. Hermione rushed to his side, cringing the closer she got to him. His left arm was dripping blood, the red droplets intertwining streams down his hand, finding their destination in the soil. It was obvious from his movements that he was in pain, and she wondered how he had deflected the curses this long. She joined him in his fight, and they quickly defeated the masked man together. She raised her wand above Dean's head, shooting off white sparks to alert Luna of his injury.

Molly and Ginny were dueling three Death Eaters. Hermione realized that Ginny had abandoned her broom at some time. The realization bothered her; the air assault team was supposed to stick to the skies, where could they hopefully keep the advantage over the enemy. Not that she believe that Ginny would head such advice, not when a family member or friend was in danger.

The youngest Weasley was definitely a Gryffindor.

Hermione joined the Weasley women, and the three ladies made quick work of the enemy. Hermione had lost count of the bodies. There were more than she'd like to admit, and less than was needed to win the war. Whipping around, she saw Dean was still injured. Where was Luna?

It was then that she saw the blonde-haired girl. She lay on the ground, unable to escape the magical bonds forced on her. A Death Eater hover over her small figure, kicking her in the ribs, screaming obscenities. "Filthy Mudblood lover! You fucking blood traitor, you don't deserve to breath the same air as me!" Hermione looked for someone closer to help the young girl, but there was no one close who wasn't fighting.

The dread set in as she realized the Death Eater count had risen substantially in the last ten minutes. There had be at least thirty of them, now. Looking towards Nott Manor, she saw more black-robed, masked monsters approaching. In the far distance, she caught a glimpse of Kingsley's group fighting their way towards the entrance of the Manor; they spilled around the sides, narrowly escaping death to come to the aid of their friends.

There were too many of them. The odds were terrible, and Hermione felt her fear creep back in. Much as she tried to control herself, the sight in front of her stopped her cold. Luna was still lying on the ground, her eyes rolling in the back of her head.

"No! No, there can't be this many!" There were far more people on Voldemort's side than she had expected. The bright, resourceful girl racked her brain for a solution. Pulling out her parchment, she searched for the spell she had read about only hours before. She didn't have time to try it out; it simply had to work.

Rereading the spell as quickly as possible, she pocketed her wand and pulled out the dagger hidden in the folds of her robe. Drawing the blade across both palms, she pressed her hands onto the ground, gasping as she felt them sink into the earth far too easily. Concentrating on her breathing, she spoke the words of the spell clearly.

"Kairos entros Chronos, Chronos entros Kairos, Kairos entros Chronos."

The Greek words felt foreign on her tongue; she'd never preformed a spell that wasn't in English or Latin, and the feeling was disconcerting. The spell was an extremely powerful one, and again she felt her body weakening. The effects of the ancient spell were obvious, however.

'Kairos entros Chronos.' Time within Time. She was familiar enough with ancient Greek civilization to know the difference between the meanings. Chronos spoke of chronological time, wrist-watch time. Kairos was another idea altogether. Kairos spoke of a 'certain time,' or 'a time in between.' It could be understood to be a moment where the Fates intervened, changing the course of events dramatically. A certain time within time.

There were no Fates, though. There was just Hermione Granger, a nineteen year old Muggleborn witch, the sole consciousness on the battlefield. Everything else was frozen in time; the bodies, the grasses and trees, her friends. There was no movement, no heartbeats, no breathing. Time had stopped, and she could walk around in it, doing as she pleased. From what she understood from the book in the attic at Grimmauld Place, she had three minutes: a minute for the past, one for the present, and one for the future. Three minutes to change the course of the battle, and their future.

Running to Luna, she trained her wand on the monster standing over her friend, his boot still connected to her already broken ribs. "Avada..."

She stopped. The Killing Curse was certainly not defensive; the Death Eater didn't have the ability to deflect a spell, or even to move. Any magic she did in these three minutes would most certainly be considered offensive. She had one blood stone left, and she would need it to fight Voldemort. Glancing at the Manor, and the bodies in the way, she realized she wouldn't make it if she used the Killing Curse on these devils now. There had to be another way.

"Come on, come on, come on! Think, Hermione!" Her screams bounced around the field, and the empty air was disturbing. There had to be a logical way to even the odds again.

And there was. She had known it as soon as she cast Kairos, but the thought made her sick. Could she really do it? Suppressing every instinct that told her to stop what she was about to do, to consider the consequences, she reached into her robe once more, and drew out the silver dagger. 'Bodies, not people.' She closed her eyes, gathering the strength necessary to accomplish her task. She thrust the blade into the left side of the Death Eater's chest, twisting the hilt for good measure.

Bright crimson blood ran down her hands onto her robes. 'Just a body, just a body, just a body.' She repeated the mantra over and over, trying her best to ignore the warm liquid pooling around her wrists.

She had less than two minutes left, by her calculations. Her internal mantra became a metronome, her feet pounding the ground as she ran to the next Death Eater. The blade slipped through skin and muscle far too easily, much easier than she would have supposed. The heart wasn't beating, as it was frozen along with the rest of the body, so the blood seeped slowly from the wound. She kept expecting the body to hit the ground, but that wasn't possible at the moment.

She made her way through the field, finding the Dark wizards closest to her and killing them first. She was amazed at how quickly she could accomplish such an appalling task. Stab, twist, pull, repeat. 'Just a body, just a body, just a body.' Stab, twist, pull, repeat.

She was drawing close to the end of her three minutes, and she estimated that she'd reduced the Death Eaters by seven, maybe eight. It would have to be enough. She could feel time starting to speed up again; she thought she saw the tree tops in the distance start to sway. Her eyes found Ron and Harry. Harry had made his way to the Manor, and he stood just meters from the entrance. Ron was close by, having been fighting a Death Eater who had lost his mask; it was Nott Sr. Without realizing that she had made the conscious decision, Hermione grabbed a nearby abandoned broom and mounted it, flying as quickly as possible to Ron's side. Just as Nott's eyes moved to blink, Hermione dragged the dagger deeply across his jugular. "That's for Theo."

The words left her lips just as the world returned to normal. Nott's hands were at his throat, and a wet, guttural cry escaped his lips. Blood poured between his fingers, and his knees gave out. Hermione looked at Ron, who hadn't seemed to notice the Death Eater dying in front of his eyes. All of his attention was on the young woman who stood suddenly in front of him. It was as if she had appeared out of nowhere.

"Hermione." His voice was one of happy surprise. His blue eyes held only love and delight in seeing her unharmed.

It was then that she knew he would never look at her the same way again. They had both cast Killing Curses tonight, but she had killed without the use of magic. Her hands and a blade, and a life was gone.

Before she could stop herself, she lifted her lips to his, savoring the sweetness she knew so well. One last kiss, she deserved that, didn't she? One kiss for the sacrifice she had made tonight, to save them all? She deserved one more look of wonder before they all found out the truth.

His lips were soft as they met hers. It was a perfect Ronald Weasley kiss, and she told herself to remember it always. The taste of his mouth, the feeling of his breath on hers. It was over much too soon. A small bubble of laughter escaped him, and his eyes twinkled in amused pleasure. It was too much, and she felt a sob welling deep within her. He would probably hate her for that kiss, but she couldn't find it within herself to regret taking that last chance to be close to him. The memory would have to keep her company when they no longer knew one another.

Nott Sr. lay at her lover's feet, the Death Eater's blood coating the ground. Ron had no idea, however, as he couldn't seem to take his eyes off of the witch who had just kissed him.

She blinked back tears. She couldn't afford to get overly emotional now. She needed her logical, cold detachment. It has served her this far, and she needed it to carry on.

"I love you Ron." She kissed his cheek. "Don't look down."

She turned to grab Harry as seven Death Eaters crumbled to the ground, rivers of blood soaking their black robes. Harry looked around the field, and then saw Hermione's hand on his arm. Her hands were coated in the same red liquid as the Death Eaters, and her eyes were dull. It was then that he realized the cost of Hermione's sacrifice. He knew exactly what had happened.

"Bookworm..." he pleaded, his green eyes conveying the words that wouldn't come.

"No, Harry, there's no time. And it won't change things. We need to go, now!" She pushed him towards the imposing doors of the Manor, and they stepped inside Voldemort's headquarters.


	16. Reckoning

Harry and Hermione stepped cautiously into the confines of Nott Manor, and Hermione noted how tremendously vast the place was; these old pureblood families didn't seem to want for much. The room was dim, the only light coming from candles along the far walls. Still, the lavishness of the place wasn't lost on Hermione, even in the fleeting glance she gave her surroundings. Of course, the cathedral ceilings, marble floors and glass atrium came with the Dark Lord as a semi-permanent guest. Compromises had to be made, she supposed.

The dueling began moments after they entered the room. Four Death eaters stood as sentinels along the far passageway; she hadn't noticed them when they entered, as their bodies were partially hidden in shadow. Obviously they hadn't seen Harry and Hermione at first; either that, or their reflexes were slow. The Order members were able to walk halfway across the room before the first curse was heard. The Death Eaters kept their place along the far doorway, holding their ground. 'They may as well be saying "Voldemort this way!"' she thought. The guards fired curses at them, but she didn't hear the Killing Curse among them. Dodging a particularly nasty Crucio, Hermione cast the fatal curse, and the first Death Eater collapsed.

Apprehension appeared as cold sweat upon her brow; she had attempted to cast the spell non-verbally, and nothing had happened. She had begun to rely on her wordless magic, and the power of the blood stone. Those powers were fading quicker than she had anticipated.

She set upon the next Death Eater; Harry was dueling two wizards, and seemed to be holding his own quite well. Hermione dodged spell after spell, always on her toes, bobbing and weaving, the magic just missing her. She attempted another shield charm, but couldn't seem to hold it against the assault. She had shielded her team against twenty-two Death Eaters an hour earlier, and now she couldn't ward off one. Not only that, but she couldn't seem to hit the man in front of her; he was quick, very quick indeed, and he never relented. Time and again she willed her spells to make contact, but to no avail. Green light came within inches of her, and she gasped at the brush with mortality.

Harry had progressed closer to the doorway, and she began to worry that she'd inadvertently hit with him a curse. She crossed the width of the room until Harry was out of her line of attack. She wondered how his powers were doing. Had the blood stone magic faded for him as well?

She attacked the Death Eater with renewed vigor, but her curses were dodged, blocked, and once, returned. With each Killing Curse she felt the power of the blood stone ebb, so she switched to non-lethal curses, hoping to hold onto her increased skills for as long as possible.

The stinging hex she had thrown at her opponent in desperation rebounded and hit her leg, knocking her sideways. In anger, she struck viciously with a well-placed Sectumsempra, and finally hit her mark.

She had meant to slash him across the chest to weaken him, much as Harry had done to Malfoy in sixth year. The cuts on the body told another story, however. There, a gash across his belly. And there, one at his throat. She watched, horrified, as the blood poured down his chest, trailing over the hands desperately holding in viscera.

Hermione balked at the sight. It wasn't what she had wanted, this gore and violence. Avada Kedavra killed people quickly, with little pain. She had killed with a knife only because it was necessary; even then the wounded hadn't felt the initial pain because of the nature of the Kairos spell. The only body that had truly felt her wrath was Nott Sr.'s, and she felt no remorse over her actions. 'If you raise your only child to be a Death Eater, you should be punished,' she had reasoned.

This carnage was more than she could handle at the moment. Without another thought, she released the Killing Curse, if only to end the misery she saw in front of her. Harry was still fighting his very literal demons, and she half stumbled, half ran to join him. She was at his side when she happened a glance at the ground and saw the face that would haunt her for years to come.

There, lying across the doorway was the first Death Eater she had fought, the one who hadn't cast the Killing Curse. His mask had slipped when his body fell, and his light brown eyes were open, unseeing in death.

It had been years since she had last seen Zacharias Smith, the cowardly Hufflepuff who had fled Hogwarts during the Battle rather than fight. He had practiced defense against the Dark Arts alongside Harry and Hermione in their Dumbledore's Army days, but had turned tail when it actually came to defending against the Dark Arts. Zacharias has always been a nosy, rude, spineless git; still, Hermione couldn't believe that he would willingly become a Death Eater. "Harry, stop! Don't kill them!"

The words were lost in a clash of dark spells and screams. Green light flew from Harry's wand, and she unwittingly closed her eyes at the sight. Forcing herself to look, she felt the wave of relief wash over her when she saw the Death Eaters very much alive.

Harry's spell had missed.

Thinking quickly, she cast the incantation. "Incarcerous!" The spell held one Death Eater against the far wall, just beside the doorway Zacharias's body occupied. Harry quickly disarmed the remaining Death Eater, and he was ensnared as well.

"Hermione! What's going on? What is it?"

She pointed towards Smith's body, not realizing Harry's glasses had fallen during his two-on-one fight. He knelt down to look for them, and Hermione summoned them, handing the spectacles to the wizard. His myopia controlled, he glanced in the direction of Hermione's gaze.

"No…" he whispered, moving closer for a better look. "But why would Smith…?"

"I'm not sure he had a choice, Harry. Whether he was Imperiused, or just controlled through means of manipulation, I'm not sure he had a real choice." She looked away from Smith's shell and towards the bound bodies to the left it. Neither made a sound as she approached; Harry had Silencio'd both of them, to ward off wandless magic. Both teens supposed that some Death Eaters may have the ability to cast wandless, wordless spells, but it was a calculated risk.

Hermione slowly removed the first Death Eater mask and came face to face with the visage of Augustus Rookwood. His expression betrayed the rage he felt at being captured, and Hermione didn't need to read lips to understand exactly what it was he was calling her.

"Rookwood." Harry leaned back and spit at the man. "You killed Fred, you fucking monster!" Green light left the Chosen One's wand; Rookwood was no more. His body hung limply on the wall where he was still bound.

"Harry…"

"Hermione, he's been a Death Eater since the beginning! You can't blame the Imperius Curse, it's all him. He's a Dark wizard through and through. Don't you dare tell me I should have shown him pity." The words hissed from his throat, sounding almost like Parseltongue.

"No, he killed Fred! You're right, he was a monster, and he managed to escape Azkaban twice. Obviously locking him up doesn't work well. He deserved his end. But Harry, you're hurt."

How had he not noticed before? His left arm was visible through his robes, his clothing rent by a strong spell. Below it, the wound felt deep and serious; risking a quick glance, he thought he could see bone in one spot, the muscle ripped away. He had felt something hit him, and the pain had been incredible, but he had simply let the arm hang loose at his side until he could deal with it. Now the pain was overwhelming, and he felt the room twist and turn before him. Hermione held out a hand to steady her friend, and moved around him to get a better look at the wound.

She drew in a quick breath, feeling her nausea rise at the sight that presented itself. Blood, bone, muscle, and skin seemed to spin together, her vision swimming as she observed the trauma. The seriousness of his injury was obvious, but what really concerned her were the green and purple lines surrounding the wound; they spread along the surface of his skin, looking for all the world like magic marker veins drawn on by a child.

Poison. It had to be.

Now that Harry's adrenaline had ceased, he began to feel the full effects of the poison. His skin took on a pallid complexion and began to look shiny, as if he were made of plastic, instead of flesh. Hermione watched as he swayed in place, his head lolling to the side. She caught him just as he started to fall, and she carefully lowered him to the ground. She felt his forehead; he was burning with fever.

Luna and Fleur, the ones with the full packs of medical supplies, were still outside on the battlefield, and the entrance hall was empty, save for the remaining Death Eater bound to the wall. Should she take Harry back outside, into battle, or try to heal him by herself?

Making a split decision, Hermione reached into her robes and produced a small, beaded bag; it was the same one that had accompanied the Golden Trio during their Horcrux finding days. Pointing her wand at the bag, she summoned the necessary supplies, hoping she had everything she needed to remove the vile poison from her friend's body.

Hermione thrust a bezoar into Harry's mouth, and took precious minutes to wait for his reaction, if any. Slowly his color returned, but she could tell the bezoar itself wasn't strong enough to fight the poison completely. Quickly she surveyed the rest of her supplies. She'd do anything for a vile of Antidote for Uncommon Poisons, but really, that would have been too easy. Holding her breath, she began to apply potions and salves to his wound, praying to gods she didn't believe in that something would work for her injured friend. Without knowing the exact poison he was exposed to, it was difficult to know exactly how to treat him. She thought back to her time at Grimmauld Place, trying to remember any spell that resulted in green and purple tendrils of poison. She shook her head in frustration; there was nothing that sounded like this. She assumed the spell was Dark magic, but it was unlike anything she had come across. Had it been an invention of Rookwood's? If so, there was almost nothing that could be done; Rookwood was dead, and the information he carried was lost with him.

Harry's color was almost back to normal, but his eyes were wild, looking above Hermione's head, then to the ground. 'What does he think he sees?' His slipping grasp on reality was terrifying. She needed him in order to defeat Voldemort; there was no way she could do this on her own. He couldn't die.

She couldn't imagine a world without Harry Potter in it.

Thinking quickly, she applied Dittany to his wound and searched his robes. Finding his second blood stone, she placed it in his mouth. "Harry, I need you to swallow this. Come on, you can do it, just swallow the stone." His eyes wouldn't meet hers, and he didn't seem to hear her. She raised her wand to his mouth, and water flowed over the bezoar. Immediately she flashed back to the night with Nott at Grimmauld Place. She whimpered at the memory, but allowed the water to flow down Harry's throat. When he had a full mouthful of liquid, she placed her hand over his lips, forcing his jaw closed. Tilting his head back, she rubbed his throat, coaxing him to swallow the stone. When she determined that he had swallowed it, she quickly opened his mouth and managed to get him to swallow a bit of Wideye Potion as well.

After doing everything she could think to do to help Harry, Hermione sat back on her haunches, carefully searching her friend for changes. "Come on Harry, come on... come back to me, please, please, please..."

"Hermione?"

His voice was raspy and worn, as if he'd slept for days.

"I'm here, Harry. How do you feeling?"

"It hurts... gods, it hurts so much."

"I'm so sorry, Harry, I didn't have the correct antidote; I think I've stopped the spread of the poison, so you should be safe, but it's going to hurt until we can get you to St. Mungo's. Do you think you can stand?"

"I... I think so."

Hermione helped her friend to his feet, and she supported his weight until he regained his balance. Harry took a few hesitant steps before releasing his grip on the witch's arm.

"I think I'm going to be okay. Do you happen to have any of that Wit-Sharpening Potion McGonagall was passing around earlier?" He looked at her hopefully.

"No, I'm sorry, I don't. I do have a small bit of Girding Potion. I'm not sure there's enough to do a whole lot, but it could help."

Harry nodded and swigged the remaining potion from the vial. Turning to face the doorway, he gestured at the remaining Death Eater. "Would you like to do the honors?"

Hermione had briefly forgotten about the bound body. She approached him with caution, fearful of what she would find beneath the mask. Obviously the Death Eater didn't have a knack for wordless and wandless magic, or she and Harry most likely would have been dead by now. She kicked herself for turning her back on the enemy. She was getting reckless.

Gathering her Gryffindor courage, she ripped the mask off the body in front of her, and came face to face with Michael Corner. His shoulder-length hair hung sweaty across his brow, and he didn't seem to recognize Hermione.

"Michael? It's me, Hermione Granger. We were in the D.A. together at Hogwarts. Do you remember me?"

He sneered at her and spit at her feet. "Hermione Granger is a filthy Mudblood!" His words were laced with derision, but his gaze remained flat. There was no recognition in his eyes.

"Harry, I don't think he knows who we are, not really. He's definitely being controlled somehow, whether under the Imperius Curse or something similar. I know you and Ron haven't always liked Michael, but he's always been loyal to the D.A. He was Crucio'd for standing up to the Carrows, for goodness sake!"

Her nails dug crescent-shaped marks into her palms as she felt control leaving her body. "Gods, Harry, who the hell are we fighting out there? They can't all be real Death Eaters!" Her hands flew to Corner's robes, and she pushed his sleeve back to look at his arm before either young man could react. "He has the mark, but it's so much lighter than it should be. Look!" She grabbed Rookwood's arm to compare the two; she was right, the dead man's arm was much, much darker than Michael's. "Michael couldn't have taken it willingly, not if it looks like that. Harry, all those people I killed... they may have been innocent. We have to go out there, we have to tell the Order! We can't hurt any more people, Harry, we can't..." Her voice trailed off, her eyes focusing on things that were not there.

Harry saw the madness flitting across Hermione's face; he knew if he couldn't manage to calm her down immediately, she'd be lost, slipping into shock. Appealing to her rational self, he spoke. "Hermione, whether or not those people are being controlled, they are trying their damnedest to kill us, and our friends. It's still us versuses them, Bookworm, I'm sorry, but that's the way it is. For all we know, it was Corner that cursed me."

Hermione really HAD forgotten about the second Death Eater; she hadn't even thought to question him about Harry's wound.

It was then that Michael Corner spoke again. "It's you! You're Harry Potter, the Chosen One! The Dark Lord has some verrrry interesting plans for you. Such wonderful, wonderful plans." His laughter echoed through the room, high and thin. It wasn't Michael's laugh at all.

"Hermione, we've got to go, now! The sooner we kill Voldemort..."

"Don't say the name, it's Taboo!" she shrieked.

"...The sooner Michael should be himself again. I'm pretty sure the Dark Bastard knows we're here, love; we may as well say his name."

Just then another shrill laugh rang throughout the room, but this one didn't come from Michael. Harry felt the hair on his body stand at attention; the sound was horrid.

"It's him."

Hermione nodded, her wits about her once more. She swallowed. "I guess that means it's time."


	17. Rennervate

Voldemort's laughter still echoed through the room – it was an unearthly sound, and it whined and ebbed like a train's horn on a summer night. The effect was chilling, and Hermione felt her body break out in gooseflesh. This was the moment that she truly grasped the gravity of her current situation; she was truly in the belly of the beast, standing in Voldemort's lair. She looked backwards to the entrance of the Manor; behind those doors she would find the rest of the Order – Kingsley, Professor McGonagall, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, George, Ginny, and Ron…. There were so many people she loved out there, fighting on the grounds of Nott Manor. If she just went outside, she could fight alongside them. She could see Ron again, if she just left...

Glancing though the tall, mahogany doors in front of her, she saw a long hallway. The light was dim at the end, but she knew it would lead to him, the Dark Lord. Behind her was her family, her past, her comfort zone. Ahead of her was danger; her future, her fate. It was the first time she fully accepted that she was destined to play a part in taking down Lord Voldemort. This wasn't just a favor she was doing to help Harry; it wasn't a reaction to Voldemort's fear of her increasing powers. She felt the magic at her core surge at the realization that she would do this because there was simply no other choice. She had no idea what would happen when she met the face of evil; she had no plans, no strategy. There were no more books to read, no more spells to memorize. There was just her, Harry, and their combined intellect and magic.

It would have to be enough.

'But what if it isn't? What if tonight is remembered as the night that Voldemort won the war? If the Order of the Phoenix dies here, who will take their place?' She knew there would be no one to take up the Order's banner. She was weary at the thought.

She had been fighting Death Eaters for the better part of, what, two hours? Three? And that was just today. Really, she had been fighting this war for years. How long had they been at Nott Manor? She wondered if the Kairos spell was affecting how she perceived time. At once it seemed they had just arrived, yet been here for days. Was it truly just last night that she had tortured Theodore Nott?

How could that be?

Harry's voice ripped her from her thoughts. He had been silent for the past few minutes, standing and watching her inner battle. There were no Death Eaters about; he wondered if Voldemort was sitting somewhere, waiting patiently for them. "Hey, Bookworm. Are you still with me?" His words were casual, but his face was awash with guilt. He didn't want this for her. "There's still time to turn away, you know."

"Harry, you know just as well as I do that it has to be both of us. Stop feeling sorry for me; we're facing the same fate."

His tone turned mournful at her words. "I know, but it's just not fair! I've known for years now that it's him or me. He marked me as his equal when I was just a baby. But you… you've had only days to prepare for this. It's just not right; this isn't what I wanted for you, 'Mione. I hate myself for what I've asked of you! Don't you see? It's ripping me apart to see you like this. After all you went through with Nott… This is so wrong! I know what I said about sacrifice, but it's too much, I see that now. There must be another way. I'll face him on my own. The prophecy was about me, anyways. It doesn't mention anyone else, just me and Voldemort." His expression hardened, his green eyes dark. "You've done what I've asked of you. You've taken down more Death Eaters than the rest of the Order combined. Go outside. I'll take it from here." He flicked his wand towards the door. "Go."

She stared at him, gobsmacked by his audacity.

"GO!" He pointed his wand at her. Did he seriously think he could intimidate her into leaving? She was furious at her dark-haired friend. He would turn her away now, now when they were so close to the end?

"Gods, Harry, you can be so daft sometimes. Like I'm going to let you do this on your own, you stupid git, when we both know that's not how this is supposed to happen. So Dumbledore didn't figure me into his equation. He thought that Voldemort would be vulnerable when the last Horcrux was destroyed. Dumbledore was wrong, Harry! He was a genius, sure, but he wasn't all-knowing! And how do you know I wasn't mentioned in the prophecy? 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not.' Dumbledore said that power was love, right? That's all very nice and mushy, but, Harry, what if it was more than that? I love you! You are my closest friend, and I love you enough to fight with you, to die for you, if necessary. I love you so much that I can't turn my back, not now. Merlin, Harry, I'm a fucking powerful witch. Did you see what I did out there? You're not the only one Voldemort has marked as his equal! He had me kidnapped and tortured because he was frightened of me. He was planning on using me, somehow. Maybe I'm the power the Dark Lord didn't count on until it was too late. Did you ever think of that? No. You didn't. Instead you give me this self-important speech about going it on your own. You're right, you did ask a lot of me, maybe more than you should have. But I rose to the occasion, just like I always do! This isn't any different. You're stuck with me, Potter. You're just going to have to deal with it, because I'm not leaving." She raised her chin in defiance, her amber eyes shining with challenge and anger. She lifted her wand to meet his, and flicked his away in annoyance.

His guilt and determination turned quickly to what looked to Hermione like amusement, although she could tell he was annoyed at her unwavering decision. "Remind me not to get on your bad side." He turned on his heel, walking into the long, dark hallway. She followed without a word, but her huffing and puffing told him exactly how agitated she was at the Chosen One.

* * *

Outside the Manor, the Order of the Phoenix seemed to be winning. Hermione's magical take-down of the eight Death Eaters was a huge boon to the Light side. Well, at least Ron knew that it was Hermione who had turned the tide; everyone else had seemed stunned when the Death Eaters crumpled at their feet, hemorrhaging blood at an alarming rate. The other members of the Order were simply thankful for the sudden advantage, and didn't take the time to question it.

Ron had been amazed to see Hermione standing before him, and had gladly accepted her sweet kiss. The beauty and absurdity of the situation had struck him as funny, and he had laughed at the loving gesture. His brilliant and strong Hermione, suddenly there in front of him, in the middle of a war. Stopping to kiss his lips. It was perfect.

But why did she look like she was about to cry? What had happened? And where was the Death Eater he had been fighting? He thought he had recognized the man the minute the mask slipped, but maybe not?

"I love you Ron. Don't look down." And then she was gone, taking Harry with her into the Manor. The doors had closed, and he had just stood there. He had started to move towards the Manor to follow his best friend and the woman he loved, but his foot had slipped in the wet grass. He had looked down at his red-splattered trainers, and there at his feet lay the body of Nott Sr. He recognized the man now; Theo looked quite a bit like him, after all.

"Don't look down."

This is what she had meant. He knelt to look at the man, pale as death, yet obviously still alive; he was choking rather loudly on his own blood. His throat was slit deeply, and Ron was reminded suddenly of Nearly Headless Nick. Bile rose in his gullet at the thought. Two quick words, a flash of green, and the choking stopped.

He looked at his wand. That was two. Two Killing Curses. Sure, the most recent had been cast out of mercy, but still. The simple, smooth stick (because that's what it was, really, wasn't it? Just a stick? It didn't look like a deadly weapon) seemed innocuous in his hand, but he couldn't recognize it.

All around the field, Death Eaters lay dying. He saw the blood, the mess.

And then he understood.

'Mione. She had killed these people. His hand wandered to his face where she had kissed him, and he felt wetness there. A tear? Was he crying? Looking at his fingertips, he saw blood. Was it hers? His? A masked Death Eater's?

Shock took over, and he began to walk the battlefield aimlessly. Just seconds before there were over thirty racist pricks with masks, right here, trying to kill his friends. Where had they all gone?

To his left he saw one of the pricks running towards the wood. 'No, you don't get to run away from this.' A flick of his wand and the Death Eater was bound and gagged. Two of his allies joined him, thrashing against the magical ropes.

Twilight was fading quickly. The Manor cast deep shadows on the hill. It really was a rather pretty place, wasn't it? Not now, of course, but he could imagine Theo Nott growing up here, maybe playing Quidditch with his mates. The very Slytherins Ron loved to hate would have visited here, most likely. Had Theo and his friends explored the wood? Had they built a tree house? Had Theo loved his father, who now joined him in death?

There was no time for this. He shook himself out of his reverie. Surveying the field, he tried to gauge where he was needed most. He watched his mum and his sister take down two more Death Eaters, and he felt a surge of pride fill his chest. The Order was fighting remarkably well now that the numbers were about even. He raced to the doors of the Manor, intent on following Harry and Hermione. It wasn't part of the plan, he knew, but he couldn't leave them on their own.

The doors were locked.

"Alohomora!"

Nothing.

He cast every spell he could think to open the doors, but they didn't budge. Lowering his wand in defeat, he turned back to the field. Something caught his eye. What was that, lying in the grass? It looked almost white against the darkening ground. He walked towards it slowly, raising his wand once more, just in case. Was that a person? They were so small. He picked up the pace, and then started running when the shape began to look more and more familiar.

"Oh no nonono no." The words rushed out, a jumbled mess. He brushed the long, curly blonde hair back to look at her face. "Luna…"

Her eyes were closed, her face bloodied.

She looked dead.

"Luna? LUNA! Gods, Luna, please wake up." He knelt beside her and pressed his fingers to her neck, searching for a pulse. There was nothing. He moved his hand closer to her jawline, and pushed deeper. There! It was faint, but she was still alive.

Ron didn't know what to do; should he move her? Keep her where she was? Her arms were clenched tightly across her stomach; her robe was open, and her jumper had ridden up, revealing a purple undershirt. He reached to adjust her clothing (it was rather cold), and pulled his hand back in shock. It wasn't a purple undershirt after all; it was her skin. Carefully, he pulled up her jumper to expose her torso. The flesh was mottled black and blue. It was obvious she had several broken ribs, and possibly severe internal bleeding.

"HELP! SOMEONE HELP!" His scream pierced the air, the anguished cry rising above the sounds of dueling.

Molly was beside him within seconds. "Ron, what happened to her?"

"I dunno, Mum, I just saw her lying here! I don't even know when it happened! Gods, she's so hurt…"

"Ron, I need you to hold her down. I'm going to attempt to revive her, but she's going to be in pain. We can't have her hurt herself more by thrashing about, do you understand?"

He nodded mutely.

"Rennervate!"

Luna's eyes opened, the silver-grey iris almost completely obscured by her enlarged pupils. Her mouth opened in a soundless scream; she could only draw the very smallest gasps of air.

"Hold her Ron! Hold her tight!" It didn't matter. Just as quickly as she had awoken, Luna slipped back into unconsciousness. "We need to get her to St. Mungo's, now! We can't help her here, and if she's not treated soon, we're going to lose the girl." Molly's voice was steady yet strong, and Ron was amazed that she was able to keep her wits at a time like this.

"She can't die, Mum. She can't die. She's my friend… she had to be okay." He wrung his hands together, lost in grief. He had spent years calling her Loony behind her back, making fun of her eccentricities, her seemingly crazy belief in what he supposed to be imaginary creatures. He hadn't appreciated her wisdom, her loyalty, or her bravery. She had the brains of a Ravenclaw, yes, but the heart of a Gryffindor. She was one of Ginny's closest friends, and he knew Hermione counted her among her confidantes as well.

She had to be okay.

"Ronald, sweetie, I need to get her to St. Mungo's. Stand back, dear."

He stepped away from the women just in time. With a pop, they were gone.

* * *

Hermione's self-preservation instincts were kicking in full force, screaming at her to turn around. Every step she took felt closer and closer to her last. She unconsciously reached for Harry, grabbing his arm to steady herself physically and mentally.

"I'm right here, Bookworm." He took her hand in his and squeezed it twice.

"I know."

They were almost at the end of the corridor. Ahead of them, two very tall, ornately engraved wooden doors stood closed, and Hermione could actually feel the power emanating from the other side of the threshold. It whiskered across her skin, reminiscent of electricity. If she was the betting sort (she wasn't), she would put money on Voldemort having used his final blood stone just minutes before. She could sense his renewed power in the air; it was something very few people would be able to pick up on, but she had experienced the rush herself. It had an aura about it.

They reached the entrance much too quickly. Carved across the two dark, wooden doors Hermione saw a pictograph of an ouroboros in the shape on the infinity symbol. The snake design was incredibly intricate, each scale meticulously crafted. In the middle of each serpentine loop lay a silver doorknob adorned with what looked to be an uncut emerald. Hermione turned to look at Harry, and silently they both took a handle.

The doors flew open with their touch, severing the infinity symbol straight down the middle. In front of the two Gryffindors lay a grand ballroom.

Hermione knew this room. There, to her left, an imposing stone fireplace. Above the mantle, a painting of Theodore Nott as a young child, his father and mother standing behind him. And directly in front of Harry and Hermione sat Lord Voldemort, reclining on a throne.

The living, breathing ghost of Tom Riddle smiled, a horrifying image. "Hello, children."


	18. Rebuke

'Run. Run runrunrunrun. RUN!' One word, over and over in her head. 'RUN!' Increasing in volume and intensity, it was all that she could do not to follow her instinct and flee.

'RUN.'

Hermione knew that Harry stood beside her, but she couldn't feel him, couldn't sense him. She was unable to tear her eyes off the monster in front of her; for surely Voldemort couldn't be called a man. There was little to his appearance that alluded to his ever being a human being. His skin was sickly pale, paler than skin should ever be. His eyes were a dark crimson, and his nose... His skin pulled across sharp bones; he was a caricature of humanity, and Hermione shivered at the sight. Voldemort had split his soul so many times that he resembled a snake, or a skeleton, but certainly not a man.

She tried to look away, but he wouldn't allow it. She felt a familiar pressure in the back of her mind; he was trying to get inside her head, trying to use Legilimency on her. To what end?

She felt him forcing his way in, slithering in between memories and ideas. Regaining a modicum of control, she lifted her mental walls, reinforcing them, blocking him out. Again and again he thrust against the ramparts, but to no avail. Breathless with effort, she managed to throw him off entirely. He had seen some things, she knew; she had seen glimpses of memories, bits of information, but she didn't think he found whatever it was he wanted.

Breaking the connection, she turned her head to find Harry's eyes locked on Voldemort's. Harry was better at Occlumency now than he had been at Hogwarts, but he had never been able to totally block out Voldemort. She could see him struggling, and she knew he was failing. Scrambling to break the connection, she cast a simple disarming curse at the dark wizard.

He blocked it, of course.

Again and again she cast curses, each one darker than the next. She felt her powers ebb with each spell; he wasn't fighting her, so every curse was considered to be an offensive one by the blood stone. She knew the stone would be spent in minutes, so she reached a Dark curse she had never attempted, but knew only in theory, and cast it upon the creature in front of her.

He blocked it, but it caught his attention, and the connection between the Dark Lord and Harry Potter was severed.

"Well, Princess, that's quite a nasty bit of magic for a sweet little Mudblood like yourself. Wherever did you learn such a curse? Turning a person inside out, naughty, naughty." He clicked his tongue playfully, and she shivered at the mocking sound.

"You have no idea what I'm capable of doing, no idea at all. You sit on a throne, calling yourself Lord, yet you have people fight your battle for you. You're nothing but a cowardly piece of shit with a god complex. You're pathetic. And you know nothing about me."

He laughed again, that shrill, piecing sound. "Oh, but Miss Granger, I know you better than you think! All those lovely days and nights you were chained to a wall, bleeding for me... I know all sorts of interesting tidbits about you, Princess. It may have been Nott's body keeping you company, but it was me that was really in control. It was me that could taste your fear in those desperate moments, me who could smell your burnt skin as you cried for your dear mummy. I was the one who forced you to your knees, made you beg for your life. And I learned quite a lot about you, pet. For instance, you're terrified of being useless and ordinary, so you read everything you can get your muddy little hands on, and you bore everyone around you with tedious facts and trivia. You let that blood-traitor Weasley fuck that tight little body of yours night after night because you like to tell yourself that he needs you, and that he loves you, when he's really just using you to dull the pain of his poor brother's death. Fred, was it? That's a rhetorical question of course; I know exactly who Fred Weasley was to your sort; I know every single person I took from you, and the hurt that it caused. All those memories of you crying in your bed, long after your dear Ronald had gone to sleep, not caring that you were in pain. You loved them all, I know. And I took them from you, one by one. And I relished every second of it."

Furious, she cursed him again, but to no avail. "Harry, do something!"

The dark-haired boy had been frozen since entering the room, unable to move or speak. Voldemort had searched his mind with little difficulty, and had made sure to cause Harry a significant amount of mental trauma in the process. When Hermione had broken the connection between him and the Dark Lord, he had regained awareness, but the pain and nausea that accompanied the psychic violation drove him to his knees. Hermione's plea stirred his resolve once more, and he stood with much effort.

The Dark Lord clapped his hands, laughing at his nemesis. "Yes, Harry, please, do something. You are the Chosen One, aren't you? Chosen by me, of course, I know that now. I did enjoy killing your Mudblood mother. I only wish she had lived long enough to see me kill you, her only child. Your death will be my greatest victory."

Harry pointed his wand at the snake-like being, but his curse was easily blocked. Voldemort laughed and turned his attention back to the Muggle-born.

"And you, my little Princess. I have such plans for you! First, know that I won't kill you. No, I have much more important things to do with you. You will see each of your friends die by my hand, save for one. The blood-traitor Weasel you love so much? He will die by your hand, but he won't be the last, no, not by a long shot. Do the names Wendell and Monica Wilkins sound familiar to you?"

Hermione gasped. How had he found out about her parents? He must have seen it in her mind, but how much did he know?

"Oh yes, I know all about your Muggle parents. We have yet to find them, I'm afraid, but when we do, you will be the one to cast the Killing Curse, if I'm feeling generous. If you defy me, of course, their deaths will be drawn out, and more than a bit painful. You, however, will not be given the sweet release of death, I'm afraid, no matter how desperately you beg for it. In my new kingdom, you will be the perfect example of how Mudbloods should be treated: as garbage, lower than slaves, lower than house-elves, by far. I cannot wait to break your spirit, pet. In fact, I have friends waiting in line to have a go at you! After what we've got in store for you, you will long for your days with Theodore Nott. You will beg for oblivion, and I shall not grant it to you."

Hermione was visibly shaking now; whether from fear or rage, she wasn't sure. Her fury filled her completely, seeping into her marrow and blood cells. A rushing roar rose to her ears, and she cursed Voldemort with all the hate she had within her.

Harry, seeing his friend's intensified attack, began to lob every curse he knew at the dark wizard. He saw Hermione begin to move closer to the madman. What was she planning? He did his best to hold the Dark Lord's attention as Hermione gained ground on the enemy. Every curse Harry cast was deflected. His arm ached; Hermione had been able to stop the spread of poison, but significant damage had been done. He caught a whiff of the infected skin and his stomach turned. He hoped the Healers at St. Mungo's would be able to identify the poison. What would happen if they couldn't? Would he die like Dumbledore, slowly, painfully, over the course of months or years?

Harry deflected another nasty spell, and all thoughts of his injury left his mind. Voldemort was fighting both witch and wizard at the same time now, and the significant effort was beginning to show. Harry noticed he was definitely weaker without his Horcruxes. During the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry and Voldemort's wands had locked, their spells fighting for dominance. Another curse, thrown by an unknown third party, broke the connection. No one had ever found out if the interfering spell was accidental or intentional, but it didn't matter; the end result was the same. The Killing Curse thrown by Voldemort had fractured like a beam of light, and the resulting rays of magic had hit both the Dark Lord and Harry. The fragmented spell wasn't strong enough to kill either, but it destroyed the Horcrux Voldemort had unwittingly placed in Harry. Harry had been unconscious for hours afterward, existing in strange, dreamlike worlds. He could only assume Voldemort had experienced a similar limbo; he had been unconscious as well when his followers carried his body off the battlefield in the resulting stalemate.

Voldemort may be strong, but he wasn't invincible. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had seen to that. One by one his Horcruxes were destroyed, robbing him of his strength. The Dark Lord was still an incredibly powerful and dangerous wizard, but when Harry looked at Hermione, he couldn't help but think that she was just as powerful and potentially dangerous.

If he could only lock wands with Voldemort once more, it would give Hermione the chance to do whatever she had planned. Risking a glance at his friend, he took in her set jaw, the calculated narrowing of her eyes, and the rigidity of her posture; he knew she had something in mind.

Again and again he cursed the Dark Lord, willing their spells to collide. He was reluctant to throw anything lethal, as he knew he risked the curse rebounding on him. 'He can't dodge spells forever; something has to hit.' He threw Crucio after Crucio, hoping one would hit Voldemort and weaken him.

Hermione was doing her very best to keep Voldemort guessing and defending himself. She had just barely blocked his last curse, though. She needed to eat the last blood stone, but she was waiting for the right moment. She didn't want to use her magic too quickly and risk everything. Besides, she was pretty sure she had a plan, or at least an idea of what to try.

Harry was fighting with everything he had, and Voldemort was concentrating most of his spells towards the Chosen One. If Harry could just keep the attention on himself, maybe... She had to try it. Softly she began to whisper the incantation to the Anti-Disapparition Jinx she had recently learned. She saw Voldemort's body turn towards her just in time; it was done. None of them could leave now. They were stuck together.

The first part of the plan was complete.

"Stupid Mudblood! You may have trapped me in here, but you're trapped with me, you do realize that, don't you, precious?"

"Yes, I understand that perfectly, Tom." He hissed at the name, and she smirked scornfully at the wizard, casting curses with a casual air of one who has little to lose. "What you don't seem to understand is that you're not walking out of this room. It's over for you. We've killed quite a lot of your beloved Death Eaters, and captured the rest." She didn't know this for sure, but she loved the look of incredulity and indignation spreading across the monster's face. "This here, Tom, this is just wrapping up loose ends. You'll die tonight, and you won't be able to hurt any more people, magical or Muggle. And your death will be at the hands of two teenagers. Tell me, exactly how does that make you feel?"

She dodged the curse he aimed at her, and cast her own. He deflected it with a bit of effort. Harry shot a curse at him, and it rebounded. The Boy Who Lived felt invisible chains holding him; he was unable to protect Hermione, now.

"I'll deal with you soon, Potter, don't you worry. But as for your friend... You've got a smart mouth on you, Mudblood. I can't wait to put it to proper use. I don't believe for a moment you've bested my men; you've got a group of school teachers, adolescents, and blood traitors out there. You may have taken down a dozen or so of my men, but your little friends? They're going to die, and I'm going to be the one to kill them."

"And exactly how many of your so-called faithful men had to be placed under the Imperius Curse in order to follow you, eh, Tom? How many people wouldn't blindly follow a power-hungry, insane half-blood nutter? Oh yes, I know all about your pathetic mum; couldn't even get a Muggle to fall in love with her, could she? Resorted to a love potion. It's pathetic. You were created from a lie, Riddle, and you're going to die alone, just like your poor, dear mum."

"Silence!" The curse hit Hermione, and she felt a sharp pain in her mouth. Raising her hand to her lips, she felt the needle and thick, magical thread stitching them together. Blood ran down her chin as she fought to keep her mouth slack so as not to hurt herself further. Her eyes blazed with hatred.

"Much, much better. You're so much prettier when you don't talk, Princess. Did you tell your dear friend Harry about what happened between us all those long days and nights? Did you describe the way you screamed, and begged, and pleaded for death? Did you show him the scars from Nott's lovely wand work? I did love seeing him carve his name into your body. He definitely had a flair for the creative, that one. Pity that you killed him. Oh don't shake your head, pet, we both know it's you who was responsible. I may have stopped his heart, but you were the one who weakened his body enough that I could kill him so easily. I was actually impressed, watching you drown Nott on dry land. It has a certain symmetry to it, especially when you account for the lovely burns he gave you. Fire and water, simple elements that can be used for good or evil. Of course, you choose the latter. Quite impressive for a Gryffindor, I must say."

Turning to Harry, he gave a malevolent smile. "Did Miss Granger tell you of her water sports with Mr. Nott? Oh I'm sure she gave you the basics, but did she tell you how much she enjoyed it? I saw her face, I saw the hunger in her eyes for more. You think she's on your side, Potter, but I can assure you, she has more in common with the Dark side than she does with your little Order."

"You know nothing about her!" Harry fought against the magic binding him. He had felt the magic lessen while the Dark Lord concentrated on Hermione, but it had strengthened once more when he turned to Harry.

"Oh, but I do, I do. I thought I'd proven that to you by now. For instance, earlier tonight she killed eight of my men within minutes. She didn't use magic though, oh no. She stabbed them straight through the heart with a knife; it was such a filthy, savage, Muggle thing to do, wasn't it? She didn't want to sacrifice her power, so she killed them with a blade. Such a selfish, self-serving little girl. It makes me proud." He smiled at the gagged girl. "You mentioned that some of my men are under the Imperius Curse. That is true, Princess. Some people are just too weak-minded to do what needs to be done, no matter the cost. Mr. Corner, for example. I killed his parents in front of him, tore them limb from limb, and he still wouldn't join me. So I did what was necessary to get the result I required. Your Dumbledore's Army did quite a bit of good preparing him to duel, by the way. I found his training to be more than adequate; it was easy to add in some Darker spells and make a real wizard out of him. He'll be killed once I'm done with you two, of course, but man power is man power. You understand. You actually did me a favor tonight. I have one less blood-traitor to kill in the morning, thanks to you. Gregory Goyle, he was a classmate of yours, wasn't he? I found him in the Forbidden Forest a week or so after our... altercation at Hogwarts. He had a change of heart, apparently, after your sort saved him in the Room of Requirement. He was leaving to join you and your precious Order, or at least that's what he told me after I let Greyback have a go at him for a few hours. He, too, begged and pleaded for death when Fenrir was done with him, although he didn't cry as much as you did with dear Theo. I was going to grant his wish, but his father requested that I place young Goyle under the Imperius curse; that way he could not only serve me but regain his family's honor, you see."

Hermione's eyes widened in horror. 'No, please gods, no. Please, it can't be true.'

"Gregory Goyle was what I believe you would call an innocent. He killed many people, of course, but only under my control. He was thick-headed, it's true, but you probably wouldn't have noticed all that much; he would have fit in well with your pitiful band of half-breeds and idiots."

He walked closer to the girl; she was frozen in despair. A flick of his wand and her mouth was freed. He stepped closer still, until he was face to face with her. "I was so very happy to see your face through Gregory's eyes. I had him doing really fantastic things to that little blonde girl, Luna, was it? He tried to fight me off, tried to stop himself, but it didn't work. Tell me, pet, how did it feel when you slid you blade into his skin? When you pierced his heart, and left him for dead? I can still see the blood on your hands, Princess. I must say, it's a really lovely sight, indeed." He leaned closed and snapped his teeth together in hunger, sniffing her neck. "I can't wait to see you covered in your blood-traitor boyfriend's plasma; entrails to eyeballs, my dear. I'll have you bathed in it."

Harry saw his window and took it. Using all his strength, he broke through the magical bonds that had caged him. "Hermione, NOW!" With a flick of his wrist, the curse left his wand, just in time to meet Voldemort's. The spells clashed, colliding in a shower of sparks and noise. "NOW, HERMIONE!"


	19. the end is the beginning

Harry was struggling; all his energy and concentration was bent on maintaining his spell. He had to keep the connection with Voldemort if he was to give Hermione any chance of doing whatever it was she was planning to do.

What was she planning to do?

"Hermione! Now! Do it now!"

She heard him; on the edge of her consciousness, she heard him. She knew what this moment meant, she understood it was time to act, but she was frozen. Gregory Goyle. She remembered the tall, oafish boy vividly; the last time she recalled seeing him was in the Room of Requirement, running from the uncontrolled Fiendfyre his idiot friend Crabbe had cast. Crabbe had died in the fire, but Ron had rescued Goyle from certain death that night. He had grabbed the Slytherin just moments before the fire would have killed him, and they had escaped on a broom. Hermione guessed that it was that moment that changed Goyle's loyalties in the war. Ron had saved him, while risking his own life.

And Hermione had killed him. She had run a blade through his body, puncturing his heart, twisting the blade to open the wound. She had killed a truly innocent man. A classmate. What had happened with Nott was deeply regrettable, of course, but he had been the one who was knowingly placed under the Imperius curse. Goyle... he had actually had the nerve to escape, before even Malfoy had done so. And then he had been captured by Voldemort, and then betrayed by his own father, and then cursed. And then she had killed him. He would have joined the Order. He could have been her friend, for all she knew. But now his ghostly body lay outside, on the grounds of Nott Manor, just where she had left him. His blood was all over her. Innocent blood, on her hands. He never had the chance to play the hero, never had a chance to see the good in himself, not really.

And then there was Zacharias Smith. She had killed him defending herself, but it was still the same, wasn't it? He had to have been Imperiused, and now he was dead, because of her.

Had Voldemort been right? Had she stabbed Goyle because she was selfish, not wanting to waste the power of the blood stone? It had been a strategic move, she knew, but was that the only reason? Did the Dark Lord really know her motives, ones she didn't want to admit to herself? She had been reading up on a lot of Dark magic over the last year, including things that didn't really pertain to the war. She had found it easier and easier to use the Killing Curse on the Death Eaters. And yes, she had been pleased at her increasing powers; she had gotten used to the ease at which non-verbal and wandless magic sprung forth from her body. The blood stone had made such magic effortless, and she had taken it for granted, until she had felt it start to slip. Had she killed those people the Muggle way because she wanted to save her power to kill Voldemort? Or because she wanted to save her power for herself?

"HERMIONE! Gods damn it, Bookworm, do something! Anything!"

Right. The plan. She had warded the room so no one could Apparate in or out. That was the first step. The second step was to weaken Voldemort. He was strong, yes, very strong, but she knew he wouldn't be able to survive a full Killing Curse; at least, she didn't think he could. His horcruxes were gone, he couldn't disappear in a wisp of black smoke, he was mortal now. She considered simply cursing him, but she couldn't risk the curse rebounding, or worse, somehow hurting Harry through their connected wands. She could injure Riddle, yes, but only in a way that wouldn't put Harry at risk. She could cut him. She could blind him, maybe? 'Come on, think! There has to be a simple answer!'

She reached in her pocket for her last blood stone. She needed it now, more than ever. She longed to feel the smooth bit of magic sliding down her throat, to feel the now-familiar grating across her skin as the spell took hold. The strength and clarity it brought was intoxicating. It was probably a good thing that she could only really use the magic three times; it was understandably addictive, that sort of power. This was her last stone. Never again would she feel that rush, or be engulfed by the aura of the stone. The aura... she had sensed it before they even stepped in the room. She had known that Voldemort had taken his last stone; she had guessed previously that he would have used it before the battle even began, when he had found out about Nott, but he had waited. Three stones. That was the maximum, just three, any more would weaken a person, strip them of their strength...

She could force Voldemort to swallow her stone. Would it weaken him, even if it wasn't made of his own blood? Or was this a sort of loop-hole; would the magic strengthen him once more? No, it couldn't be. He'd have used dozens of stones by now if that was true. He'd have forced his Death Eaters to make him a stockpile. But if she gave it to him, she wouldn't be able to use it. She'd be the same Hermione Granger as she had always been; a decent dueler, of course, but not as powerful as Harry made her out to be.

It would have to be good enough.

Hermione approached the Dark wizard slowly. His left arm was extended towards her, and she felt resistance as he tried to keep her at bay. His bloodshot eyes flickered from her to Harry; she knew holding his curse this long would be depleting his magic. She pushed against the invisible barrier, breaking through it with the last of her stone's magic. She was beside him now, and the proximity was both nauseating and terrifying. He was even more frightening up close. Reaching for her knife, she drew it quickly across his wand arm before he could act, opening his veins. 'There, that ought to hold his attention.' She watched the blood seep neatly from the wound. His wand shook from the pain and the effort of the spell. His left arm shot out to grab at her, but she dodged it. His fingers reached again for her, and he managed to just barely grasp a curl. She pulled against it and screamed as it was ripped from her scalp. His laughter shook the room. "Did that hurt, Princess?"

She pointed to his wand hand and cast a spell to open the wound even more; he was losing more and more blood. It pooled at his feet, soaking into his robes. His left hand grasped it in an attempt to stall the flow. His attention was on Harry now; all of his will was bent upon holding the spell and his arm. She reached again into her robe and removed the stone; it hung in the air in front of Voldemort, and his eyes widened at the sight. He reached to grab it, but Hermione was too fast, and it escaped his grasp. She muttered a quick incantation and his mouth opened against his will. She maneuvered the stone inside and immediately cast another spell.

Hermione watched as the needle and thread passed through his almost non-existent lips. "It hurts, doesn't it, Tom?" He fought against the magic, but to no avail. She sneered at the man; he wouldn't swallow the stone, she knew that. She wouldn't give him a chance to spit it out, though. His left arm pointed at her once more, and she cried out as she felt a snap in her right pinky and ring finger. He was trying to break her wand hand!

The pain was considerable, but she moved past it. "Nice try, but not quite good enough, Riddle. You can feel the power draining, I know you can. Swallow the stone, Tom."

His head thrashed against the suggestion, and she could see Harry's spell begin to overtake Voldemort's. She had to make him swallow it.

"Aguamenti!"

The water left her wand, washing over his eyes and nose. She flashed back to Nott, his mouth and nose filled with water, gasping for air. This was so much like that, but Voldemort wasn't gasping. She watched him hold his breath. 'Curious, that he needs to breathe, and eat, and drink.' The water flowed for upwards of a minute, and then she saw the silent panting, and then his throat moved. It was done.

She felt the change immediately. Whereas before she had felt the power surge, now she felt it darken, somehow. Slowly, she made her way behind him, stepping up to his right side. Voldemort's spell still connected him to Harry, but just barely. She saw the effort in Harry's face; neither could last like this much longer. The connection would be broken.

That was it. She knew no more magic that would help them. When the connection broke, she and Harry would have to cast the Killing curse, and hope that one of them hit the monster before he hit either of them. She prepared herself for the final fight, waiting for the severing. She could weaken him no further, not without risking Harry.

But what if he only thought she was hurting him? She knew the power of belief. If he believed she was weakening him, he would be weakened.

"How do you feel, Tom? I made that blood stone, you know. That's my muddy blood in your system." She whispered an incantation softly, hoping he wouldn't hear it. She reached for the knife once more and cast a quick Scouring charm. Grasping the dagger, she drew it across her skin, opening a vein in her wrist. The pain radiated through her arm, and she hoped the charm had removed the majority of the blood from previous victims. She held her arm above Voldemort's, and prayed she wouldn't regret this decision. With a sick grimace, she thrust her arm onto his, meeting the wounds. She watched, transfixed, as her blood wove down to meet his. It crawled across their skin like rivers, creating tributaries and shallow pools. The snake-like man moaned through his magical gag, and attempted to pull away. He was so weak now that it was ultimately a futile gesture. "You see that? That's my Muggle-born blood entering your body. Where's your so-called purity now, Riddle?" She mocked him, hoping her bravado would convince him of her farce. Thinking quickly she spoke strange-sounding words loudly, over and over. "That fire in your veins is my blood replacing yours; a magical transfusion, if you will. Right now your body is replicating my cells over and over again. Soon you will have the exact blood that I do, Tom. You're just as filthy as me now. I know that you can feel the effects; I can see the sweat on your brow. It's not a very comfortable spell, is it? You're no better than me, do you understand? YOU ARE NO BETTER!" She yelled the last words, tears brimming, threatening to fall. All those years she was called a Mudblood, treated like dirt. If he had his way, he would keep her as a slave, just because her parents weren't born magical. He would probably kill many others like her. She hated him, gods how she hated him. He had taken so much away from them. Revenge felt like a drink of cold water.

She watched the connection between the Boy-Who-Lived and the Dark Lord splinter, then break. "NOW!" Her wand was pointed at his cold, bloodshot eyes. "Avada Kedavra!"

They never found out if it was her curse or Harry's that truly killed the Dark Lord. Maybe it was both. Two flashes of green, and his body crumpled to the ground. It was over. It had been too easy, and she found little pleasure in the demise of Lord Voldemort. It was an empty victory.

As they watched, his features grew twisted, and his skin dried up like desert clay. His lips were ripped open by an unseen force, and then black smoke poured from his mouth, and his nose and his eyes. The billowing substance flew through the air, looking for a way out. It seeped into the walls, and they began to shake. What remained of his corpse turned to embers and ash, settling into a quiet pile on the marble floor. The far wall began to crumble.

"Hermione! We have to go, now!"

He grabbed her arm, and she groaned in pain. "Shit, 'Mione, you're bleeding everywhere!" He healed her wrist quickly, and dragged her through the now-open doors. He ran to the adjoining wall and released Michael Corner from his bonds. The boy's eyes were clearer now, and he addressed them by name. "Harry? Hermione? What's happening?"

"Come on, we have to get out of here! Is there anyone else in the Manor?" Ash and soot poured out of the fireplace to their right, and the walls began to shake harder.

"I... I think there may be people in the dungeons. That's where I was when they first brought me here, and there were many others there as well. I can show you, but you have to promise to protect me. It wasn't me doing those things, you have to know that. Swear you won't let them send me to Azkaban. Please, Merlin, swear it!" Harry nodded his assent, and then they were following the boy, descending deep into the earth. Above them they heard the crashing of walls collapsing, and Hermione thought of Zacharias Smith. They had to recover his body.

"Harry, you free the prisoners, I have to get Smith's body out of here. His family deserves to bury him."

"Fine, go, but be careful! This whole place is coming down." The young men raced down the steps, and she found her way back up to the entrance hall. There, lying across the doorway, was Smith. She grabbed him under the arms, dragging his body through the hall, and out the front doors. He was quite a bit heavier than her, and it was slow going, but she refused to use magic. Flinging open the entrance doors she set his corpse outside, far from the Manor. She looked around, and saw the Order was fighting the very last of the Death Eaters. Fleur, Neville and Dean seemed to be attending to the injured; she didn't see Ginny or Ron anywhere. Unsure of what to do, she walked back towards the Manor to find Harry. The trembling seemed to have stopped, and the building seemed to be largely intact, save for the ballroom. She could see the rubble piled in the far room.

She didn't have wander very far to locate the Chosen one; there he was in the entrance hall. He was accompanied by a very silent Michael Corner, of course, as well as two other people who looked a bit familiar. One she thought she recognized as a Ravenclaw boy that had been two or three years ahead of them at Hogwarts; she was unsure of his name. And the other...

"Harry, isn't that..."

"Adrian Pucey, yeah. He was Chaser on the Slytherin Quidditch team."

"He looks..."

"Like shit. Yeah, yeah I know. I'm not sure what happened in those dungeons, but I can certainly guess. These were the only two that were still alive."

Hermione's hands flew to her mouth. "How many more?"

"Dozens. There were dozens. All dead. A good amount were Hogwarts students, too. I think Voldemort was recruiting our generation the hardest, trying to get them when they were still young and all. Apparently there were a lot of people not exactly keen on joining the Death Eaters. Why they weren't just Imperiused, I don't know. But all dead, save these two."

"It takes a lot of magic to keep someone under the Imperius curse, especially long term; Voldemort already had Nott, and Smith, and Corner. There were probably more than that, too. He would only have used the Imperius curse on victims that were already capable in battle. Smith and Corner were both in Dumbledore's Army, so they had extensive training. That's why they were picked; they had learned from us, Harry." She looked at the former prisoners with sorrow.

Neither young man spoke; both looked skeletal and shrunken, somehow. They brought to mind the Holocaust victims Hermione had seen pictures of in her Muggle school, before Hogwarts. She wasn't sure either would survive.

"We have to get them to St. Mungo's right away. There are more wounded outside, and a few still fighting. I don't think they know what happened; I brought Smith's body outside, but no one seemed to notice me. You have to go tell them the war is over, Harry."

"We'll do it together."

She shook her head. "No, this is your time. And anyway... I feel..." she stumbled, and Harry caught her before she could fall. "I'm just so tired, Harry. I need to rest."

Harry looked at his curly-haired friend. She was so pale; how much blood had she lost to Voldemort? Where had she learned such advanced magic? He had never heard of a magical blood transfusion, but he shouldn't really be surprised by Hermione any more. She always knew more than he did, always found a way.

"Okay, Bookworm. I've got you. Let's go end this." She nodded, curls falling in front of her face. He didn't notice when the tears started. "You were brilliant, Hermione."

"I want to go home, Harry."

"I know, I know."

"I want to go home."

"We'll get you there, don't worry."

The bedraggled, war-torn group made their way to the doors of Nott Manor. Harry was holding onto Hermione with one arm, and holding up Pucey with the other. Michael Corner held up the other side of Adrian, and he was levitating the older Ravenclaw, who had collapsed moments before. The doors opened and the late-Spring air enfolded them. Slowly, the Order began to recognize their presence. Harry carefully lowered Hermione to the ground where she sat with her head in her hands. "Lumos Maxima." The blast of light from his wand caught everyone's attention. "Sonorus." Harry's voice now magically amplified, he spoke.

"Voldemort is dead. The war is over. Those of you that fought on his side would be wise to hand yourselves over; such cooperation will be for your benefit. If we have to hunt you down, I promise the consequences will be much more dire." His words were interrupted by loud pops of the remaining Death Eaters disapparating. "Well then. I suppose that takes care of that. We'll deal with them later. But for now... We've won. We've won!"

A shout went up amongst the Order members. They were such a small group. Molly and Luna were still gone, and several of the Order were hurt. Harry could see Oliver Wood laid out on a makeshift stretcher, and Percy was bleeding quite heavily, despite Dean's efforts to stop the steady stream. There was a body on another stretcher beside Percy; a white sheet covered it. Who was it? Who had they lost? His eyes searched the crowd for red hair.

There she was.

"Ginny." He had meant to whisper it, but the charm on his voice projected her name across the field. She began to run towards him, and he knew he needed to say what was necessary and little more. "Those in need of Healers are to be taken to St. Mungo's. The rest of you meet back at Grimmauld Place. Tonight we celebrate!" He removed the spell just in time. Red hair enveloped him, and everything in his world seemed right in this moment. The war was over. Voldemort was gone. He was no longer the Chosen One, a young man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was Harry, just Harry.

He lowered his mouth to Ginny's and kissed her slowly, marveling at her beauty, even after hours of fighting. She was so strong, so brilliant. She glowed like an ember, and he felt her fire invading ever bit of him.

They were going to be all right.

* * *

"Home. I want to go home. I want to go home." Over and over she chanted the words to herself, rocking back and forth. Her cheeks were stained with tears and dirt, and she was shaking uncontrollably. "Home. Please, let me go home."

A hand reached down to hold onto hers.

Ron. She knew those calluses, that comforting pressure.

He knelt down to look her over. "'Mione," he breathed, and it sounded like a prayer in that moment. She didn't seem physically injured, but it was difficult to tell. She was covered in blood, some dry and some still wet. "'Mione, are you okay? Do you need a Healer?"

She raised her head to meet his eyes, and she closed hers quickly. What she saw in the depths of his gaze... he still loved her. But there was more.

He was afraid of her. It was unmistakable, when you know a person that well. He was afraid of her.

"I want to go home, Ron. Please, let me go home."

He nodded slowly, and, wrapping an arm around her, apparated them to number 12 Grimmauld Place.


	20. Responses

Her clavicle was visible through her shirt, the angles jutting out. That didn't seem right. He ran his fingertips lightly over the bony protrusion. He had seem her naked not even twenty-four hours before, but her tiny, bared frame hadn't impacted him then as it did now. Hermione had passed out the moment they had apparated onto the roof of Grimmauld Place. Ron had a feeling she didn't want to be seen in this condition, so very tired and covered in the remains of war and death. He had taken them to the roof in order to give her the solitude he knew she required. And now that they were all alone... he drank in her presence, allowing his eyes free reign over her body. He had seen her there, back at the battlefield. He knew that she had witnessed the shock in his eyes, however much he had tried to hide it. He didn't have to hold back anything now; now that she was asleep, finally.

Ron allowed his fingers to roam over her arm, alighting upon the new scar on her left wrist. What had she done? The mark looked intentional, it was too precise, too perfect. His thumb and index finger wrapped around her wrist, meeting and overlapping. Too small, far too small. Her time in captivity had stolen any body fat she had, and she had little to spare in the first place. Now she was all skin taut over bone; he knew some aspired to look like this, emaciated and frail, but it only frightened him. All he saw was hunger, and pain. He followed the plane of her arm to where it creased at her elbow. "Ahhhh Hermione. What happened to you? Why couldn't I see it?" His whispers, laden with grief, hung in the air between them. "I'm so sorry love, gods, I'm so so sorry. You were there when I needed you, but I didn't... I'm just so sorry. I wish I had given you more, been what you needed. I knew something was happening, I knew you were in deeper than you should be, but I just couldn't bring myself to stop you. So many years I've needed you, depended on you. I've always known you were stronger than me, love. You're so brave, so loyal, and I just thought... I thought you could go to hell and back and not get burned. It doesn't make sense, does it? We asked too much of you, all of us. We were a bunch of teenagers fighting a war. It's crazy. Bloody insane..." His voice trailed off as tears pricked his eyes. "I still want you, you know. After everything that happened, I still want you. What does that say about me? I saw..." his voice caught, "I saw those people that you killed, 'Mione. I don't really know what happened, but I have a few good guesses. And it breaks my heart." He was pacing now, his eyes never leaving her fragile, sleeping form. "I just don't understand! I look at you and all I see is the woman that I love. I fucking love you, Hermione, sometimes more than is healthy, I think. I just... I don't know how to wrap my brain around it! It doesn't make sense. How could you do those things, baby? How could you kill them like that? I don't get it! Make me understand. Wasn't there some other way? It makes me sick, remembering what I saw, thinking of you... doing those things. But then I look at you, and even like this, covered in their blood, I still fucking want you! What does that mean? It isn't normal, it just isn't. Is that love? Is that what you call it?" He tore at his hair. "Is it? Because it hurts. It fucking hurts. I wanted so many things for us. But I don't know if we can have that now. Even if I could forget, you can't. I know you. I know I've never been good at feelings, not really, but I know you. You're not going to just get over this, are you?" He suddenly remembered their moment on the roof, earlier that night. "You knew, didn't you? You knew you would have to do something like this, you planned on it. That's why you came up to see. It was goodbye, wasn't it?" He was furious now. Anger was easier than sorrow. "Why? Why couldn't you tell me? Why keep me at arm's length like that? Did you think I couldn't handle it? Did you think I would try to stop you? Gods, I'd do anything for you, 'Mione. I would have done it myself, I would have sacrificed for you, don't you know that? Everything's ruined now... It's all rubbish." He sat beside her, watching her chest rise and fall with each breath. She looked younger by city lights, shadows cast over her face. He reached for her hand, grasping it in his. "But I still want you. I still love you. I know it's not enough, but I do. I do." His head fell to his arms, and he sat with the sleeping girl, watching cars pass now and then on the quiet London streets below.

* * *

It was not long after half ten at night that Harry, Ginny, and George found themselves at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Harry had side-along apparated Adrian Pucey, who was slipping in and out of consciousness with each passing moment. George had taken the unconscious Ravenclaw boy, and Ginny had begrudgingly taken Michael Corner (he had been Imperiused, true, but she still didn't trust him, and NOT just because he was her ex).

"Help! We need help over here, please!" Even after everything that had happened tonight, Harry still managed to sound polite as he requested medical assistance from the staff at St. Mungo's. Immediately the small group was surrounded by Healers in lime green robes. Pucey and the Ravenclaw were whisked out of sight to be treated; it was easy for anyone to see they were injured and malnourished.

"What happened here?" A tall, dark-skinned wizard loomed over the group, his expression grim.

"Sir, I'd be happy to tell you what everything I know, but we're going to need to get some Aurors here to hear it as well. Can you send for them?"

The imposing Healer looked the dark-haired boy up and down. He looked familiar, but it was hard to place him; he was covered head to toe in dirt and soot, and his clothing was torn to shreds in places. He looked at the rest of the group - they all looked like they'd been in a fight. "Was this some sort of brawl? Did the Death Eaters attack again?"

Harry pushed his glasses up his nose, running a hand through his hair in impatience. "Sir, we really need to speak to an Auror first, I'm sorry, but it's incredibly important. Please."

Harry's gesture had revealed his forehead. The Healer looked closer, noticing a peculiar mark. That scar! He then knew exactly who stood in front of him. "Mercy, get me an Auror, now! More than one! Hell, get anyone who still bloody works at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. We've got Harry bleeding Potter here!" The witch behind the large welcome desk (apparently named Mercy) gasped, her eyes widening in shock. "Of course, Healer Sander, right away!"

Ginny and George traded a smirk behind Harry's head; the Chosen One always got such wonderful service. Except when the Ministry was trying to hunt him down...

The Ministry had fallen a month before what should have been Harry's seventh year at Hogwarts. It was controlled by Voldemort for a while, but had since largely disintegrated as people fled the country. After the Battle of Hogwarts, Voldemort had pulled his Death Eaters inwards, keeping a low profile save for the raiding parties. Any Ministry sympathizers to the Dark Lord's cause had made themselves scarce, and what remained was a skeleton crew at the M.o.M. There were still a handful of Aurors actively working, although they hadn't been paid more than a pittance in years. The only Auror to publicly align himself with the Order of the Phoenix was Kingsley Shacklebolt, and he couldn't be the one to take Harry's statement, as he was at the last battle himself.

Less than six minutes later, two wizards in Auror uniforms approached the group of young people. The shorter one spoke.

"Mr. Potter, I am Auror Kent and this is Auror Mosely. You have some information for us, is that correct?" By now a large group of Ministry workers and St. Mungo's staff had gathered around the Order members, everyone curious to hear what happened. Harry could hear the whispers of the gathering crowd, but no one else approached him.

"Yes sir, I do." He turned to his friends. "Sirs, I'm Harry Potter," (again Ginny and George rolled their eyes at one another, smirking at Harry's modesty), "this is George and Ginny Weasley," the red-heads each raised a hand, "and this is Michael Corner. We were all in a battle, along with the rest of the Order of the Phoenix, tonight with the Death Eaters. We... well, we won. Voldemort is dead." Harry continued, but his words were drowned out shouts and cheers. He waited for them to stop; it was a very long wait indeed. "Erm, yes, well, as I said, Voldemort is dead. He was killed about an hour ago by myself and Hermione Granger. You'll find his remains (although there's not much to them), as well as many deceased Death Eaters at the Nott family Manor just outside of Wiltshire. We brought two injured prisoners of Voldemort's here along with us; in the dungeons of Nott Manor you'll find dozens of other prisoners who were not as fortunate. Michael Corner here was placed under the Imperius Curse and forced to fight as a Death Eater; I can tell you myself that he is not guilty of any crimes he may have committed while under Voldemort's control. He helped us free the prisoners, and I want him to be treated as a victim, and not as a criminal." He cleared his throat; this next part was dicey. "The body of Theodore Nott is currently at my personal residence. He was taken there after he was found with Hermione Granger, who he had unwillingly kidnapped and tortured. It was during Nott's interrogation that we found out he was under the Imperius curse; he was killed by Voldemort, through the Imperius curse, after telling us what we needed to know in order to find the Dark Lord. Theodore Nott was a Death Eater, sirs, but Voldemort would still be alive if it weren't for him." Harry thought for a moment, wondering how much to say. Better to say too little than too much, he decided. "Yeah, so I guess that's about it." He shrugged. Again the crowd roared in celebration; people pushed in on all sides, desperate to thank the Boy Who Lived.

"Back, stay back!" One of the Aurors (Harry thought it was Mosely) pushed against the crowd, while the other (Kent?) cast a shield charm. "Mr. Potter, we'll need you to take us to Nott Manor; we can handle the rest once we're there."

"Of course." He turned to his friends. "Ginny, George, you two should head back to Headquarters. Everyone else should be there by now, except for those who were injured."

Ginny's hands flew to her mouth. "Oh gods, Luna! I forgot, she was hurt! Ron found her and then Mum ran to help and then they came here, and I have to see make sure she's okay, Harry, she's one of my dearest friends..." Harry nodded through the girl's worried ramblings. "Of course, Gin." He turned to George. "George, erm... do you mind taking Michael to Headquarters with you? I'm sure the Aurors will want to speak with him, and, uh, well, it would be good if he stayed with us, just for now, I think." George agreed, and Michael looked somewhat upset, but seemed to understand as well.

"Alright, Auror Kent, Auror Mosely, if you're ready?

* * *

Downstairs, in the kitchen of number 12 Grimmauld Place, the remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix were gathering. Molly was still at St. Mungo's with Luna (and now Ginny), and Percy, Oliver, and Neville joined her. Percy and Oliver were in need of medical attention; Neville had volunteered to accompany the two men, but both knew he just wanted to make sure Luna was okay.

One by one members of the Order made their way into the old Black family home. Mr. Weasley was accompanied by Bill, Fleur, and Charlie. Soon after George appeared with Michael Corner. They were closely followed by Lee and Oliver. Everyone gathered around the table, wanting to either pass out or drink, but they were unable to do either; anxious energy threatened to swallow the room.

Dean appeared next, sporting quite a few nasty cuts. His expression was grim. Behind him followed Professor Sprout and Kingsley, the latter's frame spanning the width and height of the doorway. All eyes turned to watch them enter. They stood beside the door awkwardly, as if they were waiting for something. Seconds later, Hagrid appeared, his arms heavy laden with something wrapped in a white sheet.

The room was silent.

Carefully he laid the body of Professor McGonagall on the table. Her hair had come undone from her normally proper bun; the wisps of gray hanging gently around her face. She could have been sleeping.

No one said a word as Pomona carefully tucked the wayward locks back into place. She adjusted the Professor's robes, and her glasses, then crossed the frail arms over her chest, her wand resting between her hands.

"I saw her fall," the plump witch whispered. "She was fighting two Death Eaters at once. A wayward spell flew through the air; it was going to hit one of the young ones. Minerva jumped in front, but the Shield charm wasn't strong enough. She died serving her students, which was the way she lived. She was a brave, wonderful woman, and I am thankful I could call her my friend." She wiped back a tear. "We'll miss you, Minerva."

* * *

The first rays of dawn broke through the clouds, warming the youngest Weasley son's face. His entire body ached, and he stretched his limbs, grimacing as he heard various popping noises throughout his body. He opened his eyes to observe his surroundings; where was he? He propped himself up on his hands, and looked around. He was still on the roof.

He stood quickly. Where was Hermione? Had she gone inside without waking him?

No. There she was, leaning against the wall that made up a section of the peaked roof. Her caramel-colored hair was streaked through with red, and it hung limply around her face. She had removed her robe. 'She must be cold,' Ron thought. She was wearing a simple jumper and denims, and her hands were buried in her pockets.

He approached the silent girl; he knew she had heard him. She had turned just an inch towards him when he had spotted her. He was afraid to touch her, afraid she'd run. She wouldn't look at him, not even when he stood directly in front of her.

"Hermione..." he began, but he didn't know what else to say. He reached for her hand; she allowed him the gesture, but her grasp was loose, withdrawn. He stood watching her, just watching her, for minutes that stretched and stretched. It was too much, this distance. He moved closer, tentatively, praying she wouldn't push him away. With supreme cautiousness and hesitance, he enfolded the fragile girl in his arms.

That was it, the breaking point. Her body shuddered and shivered as she let the emotions flood her. Great, painful sobs shook her body, and Ron was soon holding her up; any strength she had left fled her body through her tears. For the better part of an hour he held her, this egg-shell memory of the girl he had loved for longer than even he realized.

When all her tears were spent, at least for now, he picked her up in his arms and carried her inside.

Casting a quick Disillusionment spell on both of them, he found his way to an empty bathroom. Neither spoke as he turned on the water, selecting the perfect temperature. Wordlessly he removed her clothing, the fabric stiff with dried blood and dirt. He guided her into the shower, settling the broken girl beneath the steady stream of water. He didn't even notice that he was still fully clothed, save for his robe. He poured shampoo into his palms, rubbing them together and working the lather through her curls. The water ran red as it swirled down the drain. Next he slathered on conditioner, working it into the ends of her hair, just like he had seen her do many, many times. Shower gel met washcloth, and he lightly dragged the terry square across her skin, softly rubbing at the stubborn stains marring her flesh. When she was fully rinsed, he picked her up and out of the shower. He wrapped a towel around her and rubbed the moisture off her skin.

Casting another Disillusionment charm, he led her out of the bathroom and into her bedroom. He selected a soft, worn pair of sweatpants and settled them about her waist, again sadly noticing the way her hipbones protruded. A tank top completed the dressing, and he moved them to her bed. He sat behind her, maneuvering the small girl between his legs. A flick of his wand and the light was out. In the dark, Ronald Weasley held Hermione Granger in his arms and cried.


	21. Heartbreak

It was three days after the last battle that Hermione finally got out of bed. Those lost days were spent beneath blankets, wandering in and out of dreams. Her periods of wakefulness were far from lucid, and her dreamworld was muddled, at best. The first time she was really aware of anything was sometime the second day in a Voldemort-free world. She had awoken from a truly disturbing nightmare to the sound of Harry's whispers. He was holding a flask to her lips and softly pushing her hair back from her face. "Dreamless Sleep potion, Bookworm. Come on, drink up." He tilted her head back gently, guiding the liquid into her mouth. It slid effortlessly down her throat. She closed her eyes and succumbed to the oblivion found at the bottom of the small bottle.

* * *

Her room was dim and quiet. She could see the fading sun through the curtains to the left of her twin bed; was it dawn or dusk? It didn't matter. Her bones felt weary, that full-body ache one gets from a very, very long lie-in. Sitting up was a trial in itself. She faintly recalled waking several times; Harry had been here, hadn't he? Very carefully she shifted her weight to her legs, her muscles weak from lack of use. The memories were there, right at the surface. She did her best to push them down; if she allowed them in now, she didn't know when she'd leave this room.

The mirror refused to lie to her; she looked worse than she felt. Fingers traced the gaunt lines of her face, and her once bushy hair hung limp in sweat-sheened strands. Her skin was sickly pale, the blues under her eyes starkly contrasted by her blood-shot eyes. 'It's like I died that night; it's like I'm a ghost.'

Cautiously she stuck her head out the door; she didn't want anyone to see her like this, not until she had a shower, at least. The hallway was empty. She quickly gathered together some clothing, selecting a gray long-sleeved shirt, a pair of navy corduroy pants, and some warm woolen argyle socks. The dash across the hallway took more energy than it should have; her heart beat echoed in her eardrums as she quietly closed the door. When the water was the proper temperature (hot enough to need adjusting to, but not scalding), she made her way into the shower. She had washed sometime after the battle, it seemed, because her skin was free of blood and dirt. She didn't remember.

The hot water swept over her and she tried her best to concentrate on the warmth, the act of cleansing herself, anything but that night at Nott Manor. The memories were fierce in their persistence, knocking at the forefront of her mind, begging to be experienced again and again. "Two times one is two. Two times two is four. Two times three is six. Two times four is eight." Quietly she repeated the multiplication tables out loud, doing her best to drown the memories. The water temperature began to fall, and she turned the knob to add warmth. She took the time to shave her legs, concentrating on her math, and the pull of the razor across her leg. "Ouch!" She had cut herself, not very deeply, but it bled quite a lot. She watched the red liquid crawl down her leg, watched it wash away with the spray. The memories grew louder. She began to recite anything she could remember; chapters of books, scientific principles, bits of poetry. Over and over she whispered them to herself, holding her demons at bay. She was almost at the end of one poem before she realized what it was she reciting, and she then recalled the next lines. They were too close to the truth, but she spoke them anyway.

_"This is the way the world ends. This is the way the world ends. This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but a whimper."_

* * *

Her slippered feet shuffled across the landing on the third floor. Her teeth nervously gnawed at her bottom lip. She was hungry, and she knew she couldn't hide forever; Harry and Ron would have heard the running water. They knew she was up and about. The courage she needed to face them was just beyond her grasp. What would she say? Would she be able to hold it together?

'They are your very best friends. You're a bloody Gryffindor, just go down there and get it over with!' She slowly made her way down the stairs, stopping at each landing to reevaluate her choice. Somehow she made it all the way to the basement. Harry was sitting at the kitchen table, facing away from her. He hadn't heard her come in, apparently; either that or he was doing a fine job of pretending. Should she get his attention? Or wait until he noticed her? She felt so self-conscious; she hated feeling this way, especially around her dear friend.

She didn't need to make a choice, thankfully, because Harry heard her absentmindedly clear her throat.

"Hermione, you're up. Uh, here, come sit down, let me get you a cup of tea. You must be hungry."

"Famished, actually. Tea would be lovely, thank you." She couldn't meet his eyes. Awkwardly, she took a seat, fiddling with her fingers as Harry moved about the kitchen, setting the kettle on the stove and moving to the refrigerator.

"Would scrambled eggs and sausages be all right?"

"Mmm, sounds perfect, thanks."

The silence took over, stretching into the corners of the room. Harry set about fixing her tea the way she liked it; she watched with a detached interest as he added just the right amount of milk and sugar. "Here you are." She accepted the cup gratefully, not even waiting for it to cool down. The warmth spread through her body, sinking down to her toes. It was liquid comfort.

"Erm, Ron's out, just so you know. He'll be gone until late tonight, I think." Ah, so it was morning; must be early.

"Oh?" She tried her best at seeming nonchalant, but she was decidedly thankful of Ron's absence. She wanted to see him, wanted more than anything to have him hold her and tell her everything would be okay. She knew it wouldn't, though. If he was here, she might force herself to believe the lie. She knew what she needed to do, and it would be unbearably hard to go through with her plans with Ron there.

"Mmmhmm." He took a sip of his own cuppa, placing it back on the countertop next to the stove. She watched him from the corner of her eye as he prepared her breakfast. "He's gone with Kingsley and Arthur to fetch Malfoy and the Greengrass girl. Said he didn't want them going too easy on Malfoy and all that."

"Ron and Malfoy in the same room? Who was brilliant enough to agree to that idea?" Her nose wrinkled at the mental picture. They were asking for trouble.

"Ah, well, I was, I suppose. I mean, Kingsley has the final say, of course. He's the official head of the Order, but you know how we both sort of share responsibilities. Anyway, he's been busy the last two days with the Ministry; he's trying to help get it back in working order. I honestly wouldn't be surprised if he was made Minister of Magic. I told him where he could find Malfoy, and Kingsley said it was his place as an Auror to relocate the two. Something about danger and Death Eaters still about. I guess Malfoy would be a target, defecting like that."

"Yeah, guess so." She hadn't considered Malfoy to be at risk. Maybe they should have located him earlier; she didn't want to be the cause of another classmate's death. Should they have recovered the two Slytherins before the battle?

"Well, I suppose I just thought Malfoy would be more willing to trust Kingsley and Arthur if Ron was there as well. I know, I know, that sounds crazy. But... well, I mean, the git hates all of us of course, but at least he knows who Ron is; he won't worry about him being a Death Eater hopped up on Polyjuice, you know? It's hard to fake that kind of contempt." He smiled ruefully, knowing full well that Malfoy would put up quite a fight with or without Ron's presence.

"What about Lucius Malfoy? I didn't see him at the Manor. Do you think he'll try to contact Malfoy? Junior, I mean. Do you think he'll cause problems?"

Harry winced. "No, he won't be causing problems. Um, I saw him, actually. He was in the dungeons, in chains. He, uh... he looked like he'd been dead for quite a while."

Hermione was incredulous. "Dead? In the dungeons? But why...?"

"I dunno. You mentioned Malfoy's mum was killed by Voldemort, right? Maybe Voldemort decided that Lucius deserved the same fate. I don't know why though, Malfoy always seemed to be a loyal Death Eater. Senior, I mean."

"Do you think Malfoy knows?"

"I guess we'll find out."

Harry placed a plate of the most delicious smelling eggs and sausages in front of her. Her stomach growled loudly in response to such enticing odors. He laughed. "Guess that means everything is to your liking, then?"

"Oh yes, very much. Thank you, Harry."

"Welcome. So."

"So."

He ran his fingers through his dark, messy hair. "I don't really know what to say. I mean, I can't ask how you are, because I already know."

She nodded. This tension... it was terrible. She hated feeling like this, especially around Harry. "How are you, Harry? How are you dealing with everything?"

He was quiet, thinking. "I'm alright, I think. It still hasn't totally sunk in yet. I'm happy that Voldemort's gone, but it's not really a 'jump around and yell' sort of happy." He smiled ruefully, but it didn't reach his eyes. "He took so many people I loved, Hermione. He's dead, and we don't have to live in fear anymore, but that doesn't bring anyone back. My mum and dad are still gone. Sirius, Tonks, Lupin, Fred, Dumbledore... even bloody Snape, they're all gone. It's the very definition of bittersweet. Some moments I'm overcome with happiness over the freedom his death brings; I don't have to be the Chosen One anymore, which is brilliant. But other times... I'm just left feeling empty. I've been living in a near-constant state of anxiety for the last eight years. Now, that anxiety is gone, but I don't really know what to feel instead. The wizarding world is in shambles, we all had to face things that no one should have to face. And then I look at you... Merlin, Hermione, I look at you and I just don't know what to say. I'm so sorry, Bookworm, for everything. For not watching over you like I should have, for not protecting you from Nott, for what I asked of you... I never should have asked you to do that. If I could take it back... I'd do anything to take it back." His voice cracked with emotion.

Hermione reached across the table and took her best friend's hand. She squeezed it in what she hoped was a reassuring way. "Harry, please, don't worry about me. I'll be okay, I promise. I just... I need time to process. But please, don't blame yourself. I made the choice to kill those Death Eaters. I did what needed to be done, and I have to live with the repercussions. That's just how it is." She paused, considering exactly what those repercussions entailed. "Do you think I'll be sent to Azkaban?"

"Gods, Hermione, no! No, of course not. You brought down the darkest wizard of all time! And it was a war; people die. And anyway... no one knows exactly what happened except for you, me, and Kingsley. And Kingsley... well, he understands war. He won't be reporting the specifics of what happened. If anyone else has guessed the truth, well, they haven't said anything to me."

She sipped her tea slowly, considering his words. "Ron knows."

Harry looked at her, shocked at the revelation. "What do you mean? How do you know?"

"He was standing next to Nott Sr. when I killed him. And he saw the blood on my hands. I guess that, plus all the suddenly dead bodies, were pretty big clues."

"That doesn't mean that he put it all together, Hermione; it was crazy there, that doesn't mean that he knows."

"He knows, Harry. I heard him." She swallowed down the memories once more. Keep it surface. Keep it simple. "He brought me to the roof, the night of the battle. I was in and out of it, but I heard bits and pieces of what he was saying. He knows." Her breath was ragged from holding in the feelings threatening to overwhelm her. It really was just bits and pieces, but it was enough.

"What are you going to do?"

She nibbled on the sausage and eggs; her stomach turned, unused to food. What was she going to do?

"I think I'm going to go home."

"Home? As in, to your parents?"

She nodded. "Yes, to my parents. I have to find them first, of course. I'm hoping they're still somewhere in Australia. Voldemort said he had been looking for them, but Death Eaters aren't exactly familiar with Muggle ways of searching, are they? I'm hoping I can find them without too much trouble. I have no idea how they're going to react; they may not even want me back in their lives. I did erase their memories, topple their dental practice, and rent out their house. That, and I haven't seen them in over two years. But I need to try to set things right."

Harry understood Hermione's need to reconnect with her parents. Hell, if there was a way he could have his parents back in his life, he'd do anything.

"After that, though... what will you do? You know you're always welcome here at Grimmauld Place. You and Ron can work things out; I know he still loves you. He was beside your bed for most of the time you were out of it these last few days. Just because he knows what happened doesn't mean it's the end for you two."

"But it does! Of course it does. Don't you see? As long as he knows what happened, it'll always be there, hanging in the air between us. How can we have a future with that as our past? He deserves someone innocent, someone without this kind of baggage. He might fool himself into thinking that he's okay with it all, but I'm not. I won't do that to him. If we stayed together... I'd hate myself. I'd never be enough for him, not the way I always wanted to be. We would both be settling for less than we really need. Eventually we'd end up hating one another. I just can't do it, Harry. I have to leave. I can't stay here without being with him, it's too painful. I love him too much. He's all I've ever wanted for myself, since I was thirteen. It would be selfish to stay."

They were silent for a while, reflecting on the sudden changes in their lives.

"I don't know how I'm going to let you go, Bookworm. You're my family."

Hermione squeezed his hand. The feelings she had tried to suppress all morning came bubbling to the surface. A sob shook the air, piercing the silence. She pushed away her breakfast and lay her head on the table. Harry's fingers ghosted over her hair as she cried. They stayed that way for a long time, until her eyes were dry and her throat raw.

"When will you be leaving?"

She sat up slowly and looked at Harry. Her whiskey eyes were blood-shot and puffy. "Today. I don't think I can say goodbye to Ron. It's the coward's way out, I know. I just... I just can't, Harry. I'm not strong enough to see him, and then leave."

"All right then. I think we've got another ten, maybe twelve hours before they get back. No one else should be coming round the house today."

"Good, that's good. Oh! Gods, I'm so selfish, Harry, I didn't ask! Is everyone okay?"

He shook his head slowly. She didn't know about Minerva. "Hermione, Professor McGonagall was killed. Professor Sprout says she died saving one of her students, although we don't know who it was, really. Luna is still at St. Mungo's; she was unconscious the first two days after the battle; it was a magically-induced sleep, in order for her to heal. She had seven broken ribs, a broken jaw and orbital bone, and severe internal bleeding. Ginny just flooed this morning to say that Luna's awake now. If you want, we can visit her before you leave."

She nodded. "That may be nice." She was quiet for a long moment. "Professor McGonagall was always a hero of mine; now I suppose she's a hero to us all."

Harry nodded stood up, brushing invisible crumbs off his denims. Adjusting his glasses, he spoke, "Well, we've got the day. How about I help you pack, and then we can decide to do with the rest of our time."

She smiled at the green-eyed young man. He held his head a bit higher now, she noticed, and the stress that had become a permanent part of his posture seemed to have lessened. "That would be very nice, thank you Harry."

"Anything for you, 'Mione. Shall we?"

She nodded, and he followed her up the stairs.


	22. Healing

It didn't take Harry and Hermione very long to pack. Harry tried his best to keep conversation flowing, but it was difficult. Hermione's mind kept wandering, and he'd find himself looking at the brown-haired girl for a response and receive only a preoccupied stare.

Hermione wasn't interested in taking many of her things; she asked Harry to hold onto her books, her cauldron, her potion supplies and her winter cloak. She explained she wouldn't be using very much magic around her parents; there would already be awkwardness surrounding the reunion, and adding magic to the mix was unnecessary. Harry told her he'd move her things to the attic until she was ready to come back for them. He hoped it would be soon.

As the two Gryffindors set about moving Hermione's massive amount of books to the attic, Harry did his best to keep Hermione engaged. "So, do you think your parents have a dental practice in Australia?"

Hermione shrugged, "I suppose so; I didn't change that part of their memories, so it makes sense that they would set up a practice. Mum and Dad both enjoy their work, and I think they'd want to continue it in Australia. I wonder if it was hard to become licensed there?" She shook her head. "I just hope I can find them. You know, if we were at Hogwarts right now, I'd be going out of my mind studying for N.E.W.T.s. Strange, isn't it?"

Harry laughed. "You wouldn't be the only one going out of their mind. You used to make Ron and I bloodly mental with your test preparation. Day and night, so much studying..." he shivered. "I'm glad that's past us now."

She frowned. "Well, we still don't have our N.E.W.T.s Do you think we'll have to go back?" Harry's eyebrows rose in shock, disappearing beneath his thick fringe. "Merlin, I hope not! I don't think I could handle school on top of everything! I'll talk to Kingsley, see if we can work something out. If I have to sit through another Potions class..." he stopped. "Sometimes I forget Snape is gone. What kind of person does that make me? He loved my mum, and he saved my arse on more than one occasion. Still, sometimes I forget..."

"I know. I can't believe Professor McGonagall is gone. She was always my favorite professor, you know. She was so wise, so... fair. I loved that about her." Hermione smiled. "For an older gal, she was quite the spitfire, wasn't she?"

"She was indeed."

The two were quiet once more. Up and down the stairs they went, toting books from Hermione's third floor bedroom into the attic. Although she had been living at Grimmauld Place for a year now, she had never really settled in. Her room contained books, many of which had originally been in the Black library, but little else. There was a picture of her, Ron, and Harry from forth year, but the rest of the room was severely lacking in decoration. She grabbed the frame and moved it to the pile she was taking with her. "Harry, do you mind charming that picture to stay still? I don't want any Muggles stumbling across it."

"Sure, Hermione." He flicked his wand and the picture froze; the three Gryffindors were in mid-wave, their arms around one another. They looked so young.

"'Mione, I meant to ask you about something. That spell, the magical transfusion one you used on Voldemort, where did you learn that? I've never heard of such magic."

She laughed quietly, although it wasn't really funny. "Um, well... I didn't really learn it. There was no spell, Harry, at least in the way that you may think. I had to figure out a way to weaken Voldemort, but I didn't want to hurt you accidentally, with your wands connected and all. Sooooo... I just made him think something was happening when it wasn't."

"But he felt it; I knew he felt it. I could feel the power ebbing away from him."

"Well, yes, he felt something. Before I..." she gulped,"...before I mixed our blood, I cast a fever spell. It raised his temperature enough to make him feel incredibly warm and sick; it would cause pain, but it couldn't do any permanent damage. But it was enough to make him think that something was happening. When I told him what I was doing, which was a lie, obviously, he believed it. When he believed it, it weakened him. If you begin to doubt yourself, then you have a reason to; do you see?"

Harry shook his head; Hermione never ceased to amaze him. "Holy hell, Bookworm, you're bloody brilliant. But the incantation... I have never heard words like that before. What were you saying?"

Hermione laughed for real this time. "Ohhhh, that. Well, that was mainly for my benefit. The words were in ancient Egyptian; I saw them at a history museum my parents took me to a number of years ago. I guess they stuck with me. The inscription is from the Book of the Dead, a funerary text used by the ancient Egyptians. The words I spoke were an excerpt from the Declaration of Innocence made to Osiris. They translate as 'I am pure, I am pure, I am pure.'" She smiled, pleased with herself. "I thought it was a fitting thing for a Mudblood to declare to the Dark Lord."

Harry burst out laughing, his guffaws bringing him down to the ground where he rolled around, tears streaming down his face. "Fucking hell, Bookworm, that's fantastic! Merlin, I love you. Cheeky to the end."

Hermione snickered along with her friend, his laughter contagiously filling the room. "Yeah, I was sort of proud of myself with that one. Serves that snake right! And he believed it, which is the best part."

"He did! He definitely did!" Harry wiped away his tears. "We never could have won this war without you, Hermione. I know that you're dealing with a lot, but we owe our lives to you, all of us. I may be the Chosen One, but you... you're the Brilliant One."

Hermione's laughs subsided. "Thank you, Harry. But you're the one who deserves the credit. You've been fighting Voldemort all these years; I was just useful at the end." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I don't understand what I'm supposed to do now, Harry. I know I should be happy, but I'm just not. I still feel scared. Every single moment, I feel scared. I don't trust myself, or my magic. Some of those curses came far too easy for me. You have to mean them, and I did. I meant them more than anything." She looked up at the dark-haired boy, her face wet with tears. "I don't know what says about me. I've never had that kind of hate in me, you know? I can still feel it inside me, trying to get out. I don't feel like me, Harry. I don't know if I can get back to who I used to be. When I look to the future... there's nothing." She swallowed hard, allowing the memories to come. "Every time I close my eyes, I see their faces. I feel like they're haunting me. One moment I'll see Nott like he was in school, sitting in the back of the class. Do you remember where he used to sit? I'll see him, and he'll turn to me, and suddenly we're back in those dungeons, and he's hurting me. And then we're back in class, chopping mandrake roots. And then I'm torturing him, but he's begging for mercy, telling me he's sorry... Every time I close my eyes, he's there. Or Goyle's there. Or Smith. Every. Time." She was scratching at her arms now, her teeth grinding hard.

Harry reached over and gathered the broken girl in his arms. "Shhhhhh, I've got you, Bookworm. You're safe, you're safe. Let me see your arms." Gently he pushed the arms of her shirt up. Looking down, she was confused at the sight of the blood. "You've hurt yourself, 'Mione. Let me help. Accio Dittany." The potion appeared moments later, and he applied it carefully to her self-inflicted wounds. "I've got you." Stoppering the vial, he placed it on the floor and spoke words of comfort into her hair. "I can't promise it'll be okay today, or tomorrow, but soon. Soon."

* * *

Three hours later, Hermione's stomach alerted them both that it was lunchtime. She felt slightly embarrassed that Harry had seen her fall apart earlier, but she was thankful that it was Harry, and not someone else. He had been there with her in the Manor, so he understood what she was dealing with better than anyone.

As they followed their stomachs down to the kitchen, Hermione pondered what she would tell her parents when she located them. 'Hey Mum and Dad, sorry I obliviated you two years ago and had you think you were other people who didn't have a daughter. You see, I was actively fighting in a wizarding war. A lot of people that I loved died. No, you don't know them. Well, except Dumbledore, my headmaster, you met him once, I think. Oh, and I was kidnapped, chained up, and tortured for about a month and a half. And then I killed a bunch of people, including the big bad guy. But all's well now, and I thought I'd just... come home and reconnect. So. How've you been?' She laughed aloud at the imagined conversation; what in the hell was she supposed to tell her parents? They knew some of what she dealt with in the magical world, but she had kept them largely sheltered from the dangers therein.

After all, what would telling them the truth accomplish? The Grangers were Muggle dentists; they were both brilliant, well-read people, of course (Hermione had to have gotten her brains from somewhere, after all), but they were still Muggles. They couldn't defend Hermione in the magical world, couldn't keep her safe. If she had told them all about her many frightening experiences at Hogwarts, not to mention what happened when she left the school... they would have taken her away from the magical world for her own safety. She knew the memory charm had been necessary, but it didn't make anything easier.

"What's on your mind?" Harry's question broke through her daydream.

She smiled. "Oh, just trying to figure out what to say to my parents when I find them."

"Just tell them the truth, I'm sure they'll understand."

"So tell them that I willingly placed myself in the most dangerous of circumstances possible? Tell them about Nott? And Voldemort?"

Harry smiled ruefully. "Ahh, yes, that could be tricky. Tell them a version of the truth, omitting most of the details. Just the dangerous ones, of course."

She laughed. "Ohhh, just the dangerous ones. Okay, let me see if I've got it. 'Mum, Dad, sorry for obliviating you. It was for your own good, though. You see, a lot happened over the past two years. I didn't go back to Hogwarts for seventh year. Instead, I went camping with Harry and Ron for the better part of a year. Then we went to visit some mates as school, but that ended pretty quickly. Ron and I got together, then went back to being friends, and then sort of got back together. Somewhere in between I spent a fair amount of one-on-one time with a classmate who wasn't overly fond of me. Then there was a fairly big disagreement between my friends and some other people; it got quite heated. And now here I am!' That about sum it up, eh, Harry?"

Harry's green eyes sparkled as he held back the laughter threatening to bubble over. "Um, yeah, I think that wraps it up quite nicely."

Hermione laughed quietly, then paused. "Do you ever imagine what our lives would have been like if we hadn't received that letter from Hogwarts?"

He smiled. "Yeah, it's crossed my mind now and then, especially in my darker moments. Would he have found me anyways? Obviously Hogwarts found me easily enough; my letter was addressed perfectly. 'Mr. H. Potter, the Cupboard under the Stairs, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.'But yeah, I've thought about it. I wonder if the Dursleys would have kept me in that cupboard indefinitely. It's hard to say."

"I would have been a historian, I think. I always loved going to the Natural History Museum with my folks. My magic started to show itself when I was about eight, though; a few things happened before then, of course, but that was when my parents really started to worry. Would I ever have gained control of my magic if it weren't for Hogwarts? Would I have a normal life, be a normal girl? I don't know. I had difficulties making friends at my Muggle school. I wonder if I would have had many friends, or if I would be terribly lonely..." Her voice trailed off. "Sometimes, when I first wake up in the morning, just for a moment, I think it's a dream. My magic, you and Ron, all of it. Or in the middle of a spell, I'll think 'How is this possible?' Does that ever happen to you?"

"Yes."

"They'll never understand that, the rest of them. Ron, Ginny, any of the Weasleys. Neville, Luna, Seamus, Dean... They all grew up in magical families. Like you were supposed to, Harry. They've never known a world without magic. But you and me, we understand. I'm glad I'm not the only one."

Harry was silent. "Oh Merlin, Harry, I'm sorry, that was very insensitive of me! I can't believe I said that, please forgive me!" He waved her off with a smile. "No, Hermione, don't even think on it, it's fine. I understand what you mean. Magic will always be a gift for you and me, not a foregone conclusion. I was just thinking that I'd trade my magic in a second to have my parents back. I'd live a million Muggle lives just to know them." He took a bite of the casserole they'd found in the refrigerator. "I'm not sure how I'll get on without you, Bookworm. Do you promise to write?"

She took his hand in hers, feeling the worn calluses on his palms, the grooves in his fingers where his wand rested. "I promise, Harry."

He nodded. "Okay then. We've got five, maybe six hours before Ron gets back. Are you sure you can't say goodbye to him?"

She considered it for a moment, and shook her head. "I don't think I can, Harry."

He looked upset at her answer, but he nodded. "Well. You're as packed as you can be, given that you'll be traipsing around Australia for the next who knows how long. Have you had enough to eat?"

"Oh yes, more than enough." After so many days of sleeping, plus the malnourishment she'd been living in the past couple months, any food felt like quite a lot. And any casserole made by Molly Weasley was one to be feasted on, and Hermione had conquered the dish quite valiantly.

He stood up and clapped his hands together. "Alright then. Shall we go see Luna? And maybe later we can search for some afters. I heard that Florean Fortescue's eldest son has reopened the shop in Diagon Alley."

Hermione brightened. "Really? Already?" Fortescue's had her favorite flavor of ice cream: dark chocolate fudge with coconut chunks and bits of waffle cone. Florean had been killed three years before, and the ice cream parlour had stood empty since then.

The look on Harry's face was nothing short of childlike glee. "Really. You wouldn't believe what's happened while you've been sleeping. Almost all the magical families that fled England during the war are back, the Leaky Cauldron has been packed every night, from what I've heard, and Diagon Alley is bustling once more. People are celebrating in the streets!" He looked at her thoughtfully. "I know this is going to take time, Bookworm. I know the sacrifice you made. But I just think you should see what you've helped make, 'Mione. You've made a safer world, where people can go outside with their families once more. They're not living in fear. Let me show you. I think it would be good for both of us. And there's ice cream involved, so..."

She could tell he was waiting for an answer. As much as she just wanted to leave and get it all over with, it would be nice to see that the war was not in vain. Plus, she did want to see Luna, just to make sure she was okay. And that ice cream really was life-changing.

"Okay, Harry, okay. But I want a double-scoop. In a waffle cone. With a cherry on top."

"With a cherry on top," he promised with a grin.

* * *

The floo network was apparently up and running, because Harry didn't even mention apparating. Hermione had picked some flowers from the garden and fashioned them into a lovely bouquet, complete with white vase tied with brightly colored ribbons. The rainbow hues reminded her of Luna's eccentric fashion sense, and her wonderful personality.

Harry directed them to Luna's hospital room; he had visited her the second day, when she had still been unconscious. Hermione walked a few feet behind him, hesitant to run into Mrs. Weasley. She loved the woman, had indeed thought of her as a sort of mother figure, especially these past two years, but still... She was leaving, and she didn't want to lie to Mrs. Weasley. And she had a feeling Molly wouldn't approve of Hermione breaking off the relationship with Ron. There had been more and more mentions of marriage lately, not to mention grandchildren.

Harry stuck his head out the door. "All clear, 'Mione." She made her way into the room and was inundated with color. Balloons, flowers, streamers and stuffed animals lined the room. Luna was sitting up in bed cuddling what appeared to be a Pygmy Puff, although the fluffy bundle was changing color every thirty seconds or so, alternating from pink to purple to blue.

"Hermione!" Luna's face lit up at the sight of her friend, and she opened her arms widely. Hermione ran to her bedside and gingerly gave her a hug. "Oh Luna, I'm so glad you're okay!"

"Oh yes, I'm fine now. Just some broken bones and bleeding." She waved it off as if it were nothing.

"Luna, I saw you at the battle. It was more than just some broken bones. You were seriously injured!"

"Well, yes, but they've been treating me very well here. And, I've had lots of friends visit! Neville brought me those," she pointed to a long tray holding five identical square pots. Each held a different flower, their names written in careful script on the ceramic vessel. "Aren't they lovely? Ginny brought me a lion stuffed animal, and some sweets. Ron brought quite a lot of chocolate frogs; would you like one?" Hermione accepted the treat gratefully. "And George brought me Lyra here; he bred her especially for me! Isn't she beautiful?" Luna showed off the small Pygmy Puff with all the pride of a new mother.

"She's lovely, Luna. I'm pleased to see you've had so many visitors and well-wishers! You deserve it. I'm sorry I couldn't be here earlier, I was sort of out of it the past few days."

The blond girl nodded sagely, patting the mattress next to her. Hermione sat down. "Hermione, I'm not the only one who needs to time to heal. Some things can't be fixed with potions and charms, however."

Hermione stared at her friend. Had Luna guessed she was leaving? The wide-eyed girl was intuitive in ways Hermione couldn't seem to understand.

Luna smiled, her eyes taking on a dreamy quality. "There's a saying amongst the Talking Turblewilers of Tolviston. 'Sometimes the best way home is the longest.' They're very wise, Turblewilers, you know."

Hermione nodded, although she didn't know. She'd given up arguing over the reality of Luna's many animal interests.

"You'll be fine, Hermione, I'm sure of it. Only, don't be too hard on yourself, please. You're stronger than you know."

Hermione didn't know what to say. Luna often left her with a lot to think about, and even more she didn't understand. "Okay Luna, I'll try."

The blonde-haired girl closed her eyes then, and her words grew quieter and quieter. "I'm so sorry, Hermione, I'd love to chat, but I'm just so sleepy. These potions, they take it out of me. Unless it's the wrackspurts." She yawned. "I'll have to have Father bring me a pair of Spectrespecs next time he comes to see me. I'll see you when you get back, Hermione. Thanks for being my friend." With a sigh, she was asleep.

The Gryffindor girl leaned down to push back the long blonde curls hanging in Luna's face. "Thank you, Luna." She squeezed the girl's hand and followed Harry out of the room.


	23. Heavyhearted

Diagon Alley was absolutely packed. Everywhere Hermione looked she saw people; little children laughing as they wove through the legs of those taller than them, parents carrying boxes of sweets and stacks of books, Hogwarts students milling in packs. The bright witch spotted someone with an ice cream cone and grabbed Harry's arm. "Harry. Ice cream. Now."

He grinned and moved her hand to the crook of his arm. "Follow me, mi'lady, and I shall procure you scoop upon scoop." Hermione laughed and allowed Harry to maneuver her through the crowded streets. She hadn't even realized there were this many wizards left in England! During the war, so many fled or went into hiding that it seemed at times as if the whole magical population had disappeared. The scene before her was chaotic, for sure; there was no other word for it. Nevertheless, the frivolity and joy that emanated from the crowd filled her with happiness for the first time in a long time.

"Oh Harry, thank you for this. You were right, I did need to see," she gestured at the scene in front of them, "all of this. It doesn't change what happened, of course, but it certainly reminds you exactly who we were fighting for, doesn't it? We were fighting so that one day, you and Ginny could bring your kids here and buy them their very first school supplies for Hogwarts. Owls, cauldrons, text books... We fought for the future, Harry, and now there is one! It's a very good reminder."

Harry merely smiled and kissed Hermione's forehead. "Me and Ginny, hmm? And our kids? That sounds..." he paused as if to think, his expression unreadable. "Brilliant! Bloody brilliant. I mean, that's a long ways away, of course; we're barely through adolescence ourselves. Still... it's a nice thing to think about, isn't it? Cute little near-sighted ginger kids? All messy hair and freckles?" He laughed.

It did sound nice. Hermione herself had dreamed for so long of red-haired little babies, freckles and all. She felt her eyes begin to fill with unspent tears as she remembered her discarded future. Harry must have noticed her sudden change in mood because he stopped right there in the middle of the sidewalk and pulled her into a tight hug. "Oh Bookworm, forgive me. That was insensitive, I'm sorry." She let herself find comfort in the arms of her best friend, then broke away with a wavering smile. "S'okay, Harry. It won't always feel like this, I know. Who knows, maybe I'll find a nice man a few years down the line, maybe a Muggle, and that will be enough."

Harry's nose scrunched so slightly it was almost imperceptible. "A Muggle, Hermione? I don't mean to sound all blood-supremacist, but what would you have in common with a Muggle man? You're a witch, Hermione, and a bloody good one at that. I'm sorry, but I just can't see you with anyone but a wizard. A Ravenclaw, perhaps, so they'd be worthy of your intellect and talents. Maybe Roger Davies? He was a bloody good Chaser. That would give me something to talk with him about."

Hermione laughed at her suddenly serious friend. "Harry, I have never talked to Roger Davies in my life. I'm sure he was a fabulous Quidditch player, but I think I get to pick who I will or will not date."

Harry pulled a face, pretending to be hurt. "Fine, fine, but if you need any guidance, my office is always open. But seriously, 'Mione, I know it'll take a while for things to go back to whatever normal is now. And yeah, I always wished you and Ron would end up together and we'd all go on double-dates and all of that ridiculousness; he is my best mate after all, so I only want the best for him. But whatever happens, I'll support you Bookworm. Always." He knew the words to be true. No matter what, he'd be there for the girl. After all she had sacrificed for him, for all of them, he knew he would never be able to say no to her. He could never turn his back on the one person who truly knew what it was to face Voldemort and live. They were irrevocably bound now. The thought comforted him. No matter how far she roamed, he'd always be waiting for her.

"Thank you Harry. Now, about the ice cream?"

"This way, mi'lady."

The two Gryffindors made their way through the crowd, dodging several mischievous looking hordes of children as they went. Hermione noticed the gang of underage ne'er-do-wells flocking to a very familiar, brightly colored building. "Merlin, is it open?" Harry nodded. "Well, I guess that's three ice creams, then."

They hurried to Fortescue's for their sweets; Harry ordered the three ice creams as well as some delicious looking fudge, a number of sugar quills, and a few chocolate frogs (for Ron, who wouldn't forgive a trip to Diagon Alley without him unless they brought back some sort of treat). Harry eyed the package greedily as they made their way back to the madness outside. "I can't begin to tell you how very happy I am that Fortescue's carries more than just ice creams now. I've been dreaming about sugar quills for weeks!" Hermione grinned at her exuberant friend.

"Did you get the deluxe quills? They last longer, you know."

Harry scoffed. "Of course, 'Mione, what sort of wizard do you take me for?"

Laughing, they made their way to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, the store that was inundated with children. Hermione wove her way through the crowd, carefully protecting her chocolate-coconut-waffle-cone confection. A tuft of red caught her attention and she made her way towards it. "George! George! Over here!" She held her ice cream and the Weasley's over her head and pushed through the crowd.

"Ah, Hermione Granger AND ice cream? Be still my heart, all my dreams have come true!" George greeted her with a large hug and eyed the dairy delights with obvious hunger. "Which one is mine?"

"I got you caramel fudge ripple. With rainbow sprinkles, of course."

"Of course." He beamed and then quickly frowned. "Heyyy, I didn't get a cherry!"

A voice lost in the crowd answered him. "Neither did I! Hermione only got one because she asked so very nicely." Harry sidled up beside the two and smiled. "Just be happy we didn't get you the Special Surprise flavour instead."

"What's that?" asked George.

Hermione grimaced. "Vanilla ice cream with Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans inside." She shuttered. "Can you imagine? You're enjoying a lovely bit of dessert and then BAM! Ear wax. Yuck! No thank you."

"I think caramel fudge ripple was an excellent choice, then! Thank you both. What brings you to my fine establishment today? In need of anything in particular? Some Patented Daydream Charms, perhaps?" He grinned lecherously at Hermione, elbowing Harry as he did.

"No, I think I'm all set on daydreams, thanks." Hermione rolled her eyes; she had used a Daydream Charm once and although she found it very diverting, the steamy memories made her a bit uncomfortable. Thirty minutes of shirtless swashbuckling pirates and fitted bodices was absolutely fine, but the dazed expression and the possibility of being caught doing something as trivial and embarrassing as fantasizing was too much for her, even in the privacy of her bed (curtains drawn). "We just wanted to come say hello is all. Well, that, and I wanted to tell you how very proud I am of you, George. I think you were right; Fred would have wanted you to be happy, and to keep this dream alive. You've done such amazing things with this shop, it was a shame to see it closed this last year."

The tall Weasley boy gave Hermione and Harry a sad smile. "I think Freddie is looking down and laughing. It's not easy, though. This was our dream, and I hate the idea of going it alone. But I'm doing my best to keep his spirit alive. In fact," he whispered conspiratorially, "I've been giving out free sweets all day, but every one in twenty is a Puking Pastille." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Courtesy of Weasley Wizard Wheezes."

Harry coughed. "Thanks for the warning mate, that's a no on the free sweets, then."

George laughed. "Ahhh, Harry my boy, where's that famous Gryffindor courage?"

"It's gone with Voldemort, I suppose; at least the reckless part of it. I'm looking forward to a nice, predictable life without any Dark Lords or life-threatening situations, thank you very much."

"But Harry," Hermione asked, "I thought you were planning to be an Auror? When did that change?"

The Boy-Who-Lived (twice) shrugged. "I suppose it was just a few days ago. That first morning I woke up and didn't have to worry about a madman trying to kill me felt like nothing I've ever known before. It was like I saw this chance to turn it all around, you know? Anyways, I won't be able to settle into my life of tedium for a while. I promised Kingsley I'd help him and the new batch of Aurors round up the rest of the Death Eaters. But when they're all put away in Azkaban, I swear, it's going to me and Ginny curled up on the couch, sipping tea and talking about Quidditch or books or what we want to name our future children. And it's going to be magnificent." He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. He couldn't wait for lazy lie-ins, days spent in pajamas, and relaxing dinners with friends. It sounded bloody prefect.

"I think you should name them all George. Every single one, no matter how many you have." The redhead's face was a mask of complete seriousness. "Or something equally fantastic. Oh, I've got it! Feorge, or Gred. That way you can name them after the two most successful Weasleys at once!"

Harry clasped George's arm and laughed. "I'll think on it, mate."

"Make sure that you do." George nodded and looked around. "All right you two, I best be getting back to my customers. Can't have them leaving without a free sweet, you know." He winked, gave Hermione a big hug, and was lost in the crowds once more.

Harry turned to Hermione and clapped his hands. "Well, Bookworm, would you like to visit Flourish and Blotts? I'm pretty sure you're in need of at least, oh, I dunno, a dozen or more new books? Can't have that sharp mind getting soft, can we?"

She smiled softly, but it didn't reach her eyes. "No, I think I'm all right, thanks. I won't have a lot of time for reading in Australia. And anyways, I think it's nice to take some time off of magical books. I've been all research all the time for the last couple years; it's quite wonderful to just give my brain a sort of holiday, you know? No Dark Arts, no magical beasts, no ancient rituals. I might read a fiction book, even. Something fluffy and light..."

He nodded in understanding. "Of course. Well, is there anywhere you'd like to stop before we head on back? The Leaky Cauldron, perhaps? Buy you a Butterbeer?"

She shook her head. Harry had hoped she'd want to make another stop. It was getting late in the day, and he knew she'd be ready to leave soon after they got back to Grimmauld Place. And he wasn't ready to let her go just yet. But then again, he'd never be ready.

* * *

They arrived back at number 12 Grimmauld Place at precisely half past three. Harry knew that Ron would most likely be back between four and seven, depending on how long it took to find Malfoy and the Greengrass girl. He had given the reconnaissance team a basic idea of where to find the secluded cabin, but it had been an area of at least five square kilometers. With the dense forest blocking any straight-shot views, it could take a while to locate the two Slytherins.

He kept trying to think of ways to stall Hermione. He understood that she didn't want to face Ron, but damn it, he didn't want her to leave! Harry understood that she needed to locate her parents, but he couldn't shake the feeling that she wouldn't be coming back any time soon, no matter when she found her folks. The thought scared him. What would he do without her? She was the one with all the answers, the one he turned to when things got rough. He balked at the thought of facing the uncertain future without her.

But it was getting later and later, and they could both feel it. The silences stretched, neither knowing how to say goodbye. He followed her into her third floor bedroom and watched her reach for her trunk. She had refused a shrinking charm, saying that it would be strange to see a young woman flying across the world without any real luggage. She'd be around Muggles, for the most part, and would need to fit in accordingly. She had compromised enough to allow Harry to add wheels to the trunk and to magically lessen the weight. What looked to be a big, lumbering piece of luggage was in actuality incredibly light now, a few kilograms at the most. He volunteered to take it down the stairs for her, using a levitation charms (because after all, no matter how light it was, it was still awkwardly large to carry down two flights of stairs).

When they reached the main floor Harry turned to the brightest witch he had ever met. "So, erm, are you going to take the Floo? The connections are all up now, of course, so you can take it to the Ministry, if you'd like. The airport isn't far from there. Unless you plan on Apparating in stages?"

She shook her head, holding back her tears. "No, not Apparating. The Floo sounds fine, thanks." The air grew thick with apprehension. Neither teen moved nor spoke. Hermione cleared her throat. "Well..."

In a blink of an eye, Harry had his arms around her and was hugging her so tightly that her feet left the floor. She felt sobs rack through his body as he held her close. With that, her resolve broke and she became a puddle of tears and shivers. Neither spoke as they cried. The minutes stretched and stretched, flooding the room with anguish. When all her tears were spent and Harry had taken to rocking her slowly, she pulled away to look at him.

"I will see you soon, Harry Potter. Take care," her voice broke, and she started again. "Take care of Ron for me, and Ginny too. Please explain to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley where I'm at, so that they don't worry. I've left a note for Ron on his bed; make sure that he sees it. I have a feeling he's going to be mad at me, and rightfully so, so I put a charm on it that makes it impossible to rip up. Please make sure he reads it, and please try to explain to him why I need to leave if he doesn't understand. I know it's not fair to ask those things of you, but I am. I love him, Harry, but it's just not enough." She shook her head. "Tell everyone..." she was at a loss for words. What do you tell your family when you're leaving for who knows how long, and aren't sure you'll ever truly be back?

"Just tell them that I love them." She pulled him into a fierce embrace once more. "And I love you, Harry. So very, very much. I know you're not the Chosen One anymore, not really, but you'll always be special to me. You and Ron were the first real friends I had, and I will never forget that. You take care of yourself, understand? I'll be checking in on you from time to time." She released him from her arms. "You are my very best friend, Harry Potter; never forget that. I'll see you soon." Without another word she grabbed a handful of Floo Powder, stepped into the fireplace, and was gone.


	24. Hurt

He shouldn't have let her go. She had left so suddenly, he hadn't had time to react, hadn't had time for a plan. He should have grabbed her before she threw the powder and said the words. He should have kept her here, where he could watch over her, where she would be safe.

Because he wasn't sure that her own personal safety was much of a concern for Hermione right now.

He could follow her, find her. She couldn't have gotten far. If she wasn't still at the Ministry, she'd be on her way to the Muggle airport. He could find her if he left now. He could bring her back, kicking and screaming if he had to...

What was he thinking? Taking away her free will, yeah, that was a splendid idea. After all that she'd been through. After what he'd put her through. What the hell was wrong with him?

He missed her already; deep in his bones, he felt the pain of her leaving. Hermione...

And if HE felt the ache of her loss like a physical wound, how would Ron feel?

Oh gods. Ron. His best mate would never forgive him for letting the love of his life leave like that - no goodbye, no farewell kiss. Ron had been almost inconsolable after Fred died; what would happen now with Hermione gone? Even if she came back soon, which Harry doubted very much, she had made it clear: she and Ron were through, romantically speaking. Would he blame Harry for Hermione's sudden disappearance? Would he ever really understand?

Harry sat for several minutes in the living room of Grimmauld Place, deciding on his next move. He picked at the loose threads on the worn out sofa as he considered his options. Did he dare run after Hermione now and try to change her mind? Such a task was near impossible; his Type-A personality friend was nothing if not stubborn. Could he really just let her go, not knowing if she'd return? Was he strong enough for such a thing?

The decision was made for him when the creaking sound of the front door opening reached his ears. It was too late now. Hermione wouldn't come back, not to face the one person she couldn't say bear to say goodbye to; it was over. She was gone.

Harry heard the voices from down the hall drift towards his ears.

"Oi! What do you want, Malfoy, a bloody formal invitation? Don't hold your breath. On second thought, hold your breath, please, because you're not getting one. Git."

"I thought you said we were going to a safe house, not the poor house, Weasel." Harry could picture the perfect sneer across the blonde's face.

Then a quieter, feminine voice. "Draco, it's not like we have a lot of choices right now. Let's just make the best of it, shall we? At least we're together."

A sigh. "Fine. But if I pick up some sort of rash, I swear..."

Ron's red hair appeared in the doorway. "Ah, Harry! There you are. Come meet our lovely house guests. Please. Now." His voice had a desperation to it that Harry couldn't help but notice. Harry had never liked Malfoy, as a rule, but he felt that he somewhat understood the Slytherin. He had been there the night that Dumbledore died, and he had seen the fear in Malfoy's face. The young man had not been given many choices in life. Harry could relate.

But Ron? Ron HATED Malfoy, and for good reason. The blonde git never failed to mention his vast wealth, and then point out the Weasley family's comparable poverty. If that were not enough to solidify Ron's enmity towards the boy, Malfoy's love of the words "Blood Traitor" and "Mudblood" certainly did. One slur spoke of his family, the other of the girl he loved.

Harry stood slowly and followed the red-head. "Is Hermione awake yet? We may as well get the super awkward introductions over with right now."

Harry was silent, not knowing how to break the news. He was saved an explanation when Ron spoke again. "Ah, forget it, she's been through enough lately. Shouldn't have to deal with this one top of it, yeah?"

There, in his kitchen, Harry found Kingsley, Arthur, a blonde girl, and Draco sodding Malfoy. Instantly he felt his patience wear thin. Maybe this hadn't been a good idea.

"Malfoy." He nodded, not wanting to say more. He was afraid of what would come out if he opened his mouth again.

"Potter."

The silence stretched, becoming incredibly uncomfortable. The blonde girl stepped forward and held out her hand. "Hello, I'm Astoria Greengrass; it's very nice to meet you, Harry. Draco and I both appreciate what you did, killing the Dark Lord and all. Don't we Draco?" She elbowed the other blonde forcefully in the side. "Don't we?" "Yes," he grunted, pulling a face at the younger girl.

Harry let a ghost of a smile pass over his face. This Greengrass girl seemed genuine enough; there was nothing in her blue-green eyes that spoke of distrust or dislike. Plus, he appreciated the way she handled Malfoy.

"Ah, yes, well, it wasn't all me. Anyway. Pleased to meet you, Astoria. I'm sorry it wasn't under better circumstances." He shifted uncomfortably, remembering her deceased beau. His dead body had lain just meters away from where they stood now.

She smiled sadly. "While we weren't given the whole story," she sneaked a glance at the Weasley men and Kingsley, "it would appear that many things have happened since we've been out in society. I've been hiding away in that cottage since the beginning of the year, and Draco joined me sometime in March. Based on that fact that it was your crowd who found us," her voice wavered, "I assume that means that something happened to Theo?"

Harry's head fell to his chest. She didn't know. Why must he be the one to tell her?

"He... yes. Something happened. I'm sorry, Astoria, but Theo died." He stopped when he heard her wail. He couldn't look at her. "I am so so very sorry to be the one to tell you; you shouldn't have to hear this from a stranger. But you should know that we wouldn't have found Voldemort if it hadn't been for him. In a way, he saved us all." He stopped, unsure of what else to say.

The room was quiet for a long while, save for the girl's sobs. When they subsided, Harry looked up, worried that she may have fainted from the shock. He was surprised to find Draco Malfoy holding her, rocking gently back and forth and caressing her long hair. He was comforting her.

She withdrew from the safety of Draco's arms and faced Harry once more. "You're not a stranger, Harry," she whispered softly. "You're the Chosen One, and if what you say is true, you've given me something wonderful to remember Theo by." She looked up at him, her eyes wet. "I know... knew... my boyfriend very, very well. The world may not have seen him as a good man, but I knew his hearts. He did terrible things, but he did them because he thought he was protecting me. I tried..." She stared at her shoes now, her face drawn. "I tried to get him to leave, to stay with me. But he said that the Dark Lord knew too much. I know the things that he did. But if you are telling the truth, then he chose the right side in the end. If I can't have my Theo back, at least I have that." She nodded resolutely, her mouth set, and Harry was reminded suddenly of Hermione.

Harry was thankful that Astoria hadn't asked for details. He surmised that the questions would come later, and he didn't look forward to answering them.

He did his best to keep his eyes locked on Astoria and off Draco. He didn't like the git, but it wouldn't help to be rude right now. "Are either of you hungry?"

Astoria answered first. "Yes, but even more tired. Would it be all right if I just went to bed? I know it's still early, but this day has been a trying one." Draco nodded in agreement.

"That's fine, of course." He turned to Mr. Weasley and Kingsley. "Thank you both for bringing them here safely. We will have to figure more things out in the morning, but if it's okay with both of you, I think we'll call it a night."

"Of course, Harry. Let us know if you need anything, eh? Molly said she'll be bringing by her famous breakfast casserole in the morning, so don't worry Kreacher about that. Let us know if you need anything."

"Thank you, Arthur."

Kingsley shook Harry's hand and leaned to whisper in his ear. "If you have any trouble, you can reach me by floo, day or night." Harry nodded, and the two men left.

He turned to look at Ron, who had remained uncomfortably silent through the entire discussion. "I'll just go check on Hermione, then."

Harry looked at him, unsure of what to say. "Ron, she..." he hesitated.

Ron's face fell, his arms coming up to kneed his shoulders. "She's gone, hasn't she? Couldn't even say goodbye?"

"You knew?" Harry was stunned; Ron wasn't exactly known for his intuition.

He sighed, "I suspected, yeah. When you're good at walking away, you recognize the signs. I just thought that I'd have another chance, that I would be able to convince her to stay. I just don't understand how she could leave without saying goodbye."

Harry nodded. "I tried mate, that's all I can say. She said that she left you a note. She said that she'd be back, she just needs some time with her family. There's a lot to sort out."

Ron laughed bitterly. "Did she say when she'd be back?"

"Well, no."

"I didn't think so. If you're all right down here, I'll go," he pointed upstairs.

"Yeah mate, I've got it."

He turned around and walked upstairs.

Harry faced the Slytherins once more, thinking of how very strange it was to be here in his kitchen with them. He still thought of the house as Sirius's, even though it had technically been in his possession for almost three years now, and he'd been living in it for just over a year.

"Ah, well, if you'd like to come with me, I'll show you to your quarters. Kreacher, that's the house-elf, has been tidying them up all day, but that doesn't mean much in this old place. You'll both be staying on the third floor, which is empty now that Hermione has left. Ron and I are on the second floor."

"Together?" Draco mumbled under his breath.

Harry turned to him and scowled. "No, not together."

Drat! Draco hadn't meant for Potter to hear. "Sorry." He held up his hands. Now was not a time to start a fight, especially not on Potter's turf.

They were shown the way to the third floor, and Harry stopped besides the first door. "Astoria, you'll be in this room." He opened the door for her. The room was small, but not tiny, and had two twin beds and a dresser. There were no decorations, but there was a window. She hesitated and looked at Draco. "Um, thank you, Harry. It's just..." her eyes locked with Draco's.

He finished for her. "It's just that Astoria and I have become accustomed to staying in the same room; the cottage was a one-bedroom, and after what has happened today, and hearing about Theo, we'd rather stay together, if it's all the same to you." His words were stiff but there was a certain pleading to his voice.

Harry was surprised; he'd assumed that Malfoy would want his own room, and would then complain at the 'reprehensible state.' And here he was, asking to share?

"Uh, yeah, that's fine. Whatever makes you comfortable." 'Not that being in this house will be at all comfortable for either of you,' he thought. He snapped his fingers. "Kreacher!"

The old house-elf appeared moments later, grouchy as ever. Harry got on alright with the house-elf now, thankfully, but Kreacher could never be labeled as happy.

"Yes, Master?" The elf's deep voice was dull and tired. Harry thought, once again, that Kreacher didn't have many years left in him.

"Kreacher, for the hundredth time, it's just Harry, not Master. I want to introduce you to our new guests. This is Astoria Greengrass, and this is Draco Malfoy."

"Ahh, yes, Mr. Malfoy. I remember." Harry tried to hide his blush, remember sixth year when he had Kreacher follow Malfoy around at Hogwarts.

"Yes, well, Kreacher, you should remember the name; he's on the family tree of course. He is the son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy." 'There, that should be a good enough cover-up.' Harry congratulated himself on thinking quickly.

Draco looked at the Chosen One and the house-elf in confusion. What family tree? How did this elf know of him? Or his parents?

Harry was forced to make eye contact with the Slytherin. "We are currently in number 12 Grimmauld Place, the ancestral home of the Black family. This house was owned by my godfather, Sirius Black, who would be your second-cousin. Or first cousin once-removed. Or something like that." He shifted his weight from one foot to another. "Anyway, your mum's aunt, Walburga Black, lived here with her family. Her portrait is locked in a storage room upstairs somewhere; dreadful woman!" Harry smiled slightly as he remembered the day Hermione had finally figured out how to remove the portrait from it's previously-permanent position. "When she passed away, the house fell to Sirius and his brother, Regulus. Regulus was a Death Eater, but he defected, like you, and he died trying to destroy one of Voldemort's horcruxes. Sirius died fighting... well, your aunt Bellatrix. So. Erm." Gods this was awkward! "Sirius left me the house, and Ron and I live here. Hermione did, too, but she left to be with her family for a while. So. You are both welcome here." He gestured at the two Slytherins. "This is a safe-house, and it is... was... headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix. I am a Secret-Keeper, as are most of the Order, so you'll be safe here. The rest we can talk about tomorrow. If you need anything, like food, just ask Kreacher here." He nodded at the house-elf.

Kreacher was looking at Draco with what could only be called devotion. "Ohhh yes, Kreacher lives to serve the Noble House of Black." Draco smirked.

"Well, if you two would like to grab your things and tuck in for the night..." Harry trailed off.

"I have my things right here, thank you, Harry." Astoria gestured to a bag in her hand, and judging by the noises therein, Harry could guess that she had used an undetectable extension charm on it.

"And you, Malfoy? Do you, erm, need help grabbing anything?"

Draco stood stiffly, not looking Harry in the eye. "It should please you to know, Potter, than I have nothing but the clothes on my back. The Manor was burnt to the ground a year ago by the other Death Eaters, and most of the family Gringotts account was seized by the Dark Lord. Punishment for my mother's... mistake."

Harry didn't know what to say. He could only assume the mistake Malfoy alluded to was the moment Narcissa had claimed Harry was dead. He had forgotten about the Manor, although he had seen the proof himself. The Order had combed the grounds during their search for Hermione; the house had been completely raised. There was absolutely nothing to save.

"Ah, I see. Well. I'm sorry to hear that. I will ask Kingsley to look into your family's account tomorrow; there must be something that can be done about that. If nothing else, you may be entitled to your aunt's fortune; her husband died in the final battle."

Draco didn't know what to think of Potter's words. Would he really go out of his way to ask a friend to do a favor for a Malfoy? What was his angle? He found he truly didn't care; it would be wonderful to have galleons once more.

"Thank you, Potter."

Harry's head whipped up at the words. Had Malfoy truly thanked him? Wonders never cease.

"Yes, well. Goodnight." He cleared his throat and turned to leave.

Astoria's hand touched his arm and he turned back to the blonde girl. "Goodnight, Harry. Thank you again." Astoria leaned over a placed a kiss on Harry's cheek and walked into the bedroom, Malfoy following her. The door closed.

Harry felt his face turning red once more, his hand absentmindedly touching his cheek. "Barmy Slytherins."

* * *

Draco couldn't help laughing as he made his way to the far bed. "Story, I think you just about killed the Boy-Who-Lived. He's not used to nice Slytherins, love. He's used to me."

Astoria turned and gave her friend a small smile. "Well, I guess he'll have to get used to those of us who aren't complete gits, now won't he?" She sighed as she sat down on the bed. "We really are safe here, right?"

Draco moved to sit beside her and threw an arm over her shoulder, drawing her close. "I think so. Potter may be a tosser, but he's far too noble to let anything bad happen to an innocent girl. Now with me, I wouldn't put a nasty curse past him." He chuckled.

Astoria turned her face into Draco's shoulder and sniffled. "I knew something had happened to Theo when he stopped owling, but hearing it... it's just so much worse." She cried quietly, her body shaking with held-back sobs.

"I know, love." Draco dragged her down onto the bed after him, letting her cry on his chest as he brushed her hair. "He was my friend too. I'll miss him every day. But I promised him that I would take care of you, and I will, Story, you have my word. No matter what, it's you and me, okay?"

She sniffled and dug her face into the crook of his arm. "Okay, Draco. I trust you."

Within minutes the two were asleep.

* * *

Harry knocked on the door. When there was no response, he opened it quietly. He was surprised to see the two blonde Slytherins laying crossways on one of the beds, dressed the same as they had been when he had left them just a half hour before. Malfoy's shirt appeared to be wet with what he could only guess to be Astoria's tears. He felt a flood of compassion come over him. Sure, he didn't like Malfoy, but Astoria seemed decent enough. She looked young, even younger than Ginny; she shouldn't have to deal with the death of a loved one, especially while staying in an unknown place.

Quietly he crept into the room, laying the stack of clothing on the unused bed. He had been wary to bring clothes to Malfoy, but if he had been honest about what was said earlier, he didn't even have pajamas. And that was just wrong. Harry severely doubted that Malfoy would accept clothing from him, but it didn't hurt to ask. He reminded himself to ask Mrs. Weasley if she had any other men's garments in the house. Between Bill, Charlie, Percy, and the twins, she would probably find a few things. Harry knew he and Ron could look through their things, and they could make a trip to Diagon Alley soon for things like socks and underwear. He levitated a blanket and carefully laid it upon the Slytherins, turning off the light as he left the room. He saw Kreacher carrying some food up the stairs and stopped him.

"Hello Kreacher. Is that for me or Ron?"

Kreacher shook his head. "It is for Master Draco and Miss Greengrass."

Harry should have known that Kreacher would jump at the chance to serve a Black descendant once more. "They're sleeping right now Kreacher; perhaps you can bring them tea first thing in the morning?"

Kreacher nodded and started downstairs once more.

"I can take the food, Kreacher; I'm sure Ron is hungry."

Kreacher handed the tray to Harry. "Of course, Master."

"It's Harry."

"Yes, Master." The house-elf scurried down to the kitchen once more. He had moved back to the room beside the kitchen, much to Harry's chagrin. After what had happened to Nott, he would have preferred to keep the room empty. Boarded up, even.

He balanced the tray as he walked down the flight of stairs. He stopped outside Ron's room. He knocked hesitantly. "Come in," a muffled voice answered.

He stepped into the room. All the nights were off, save for a candle next to the bed. "Hey, mate." Harry carried the tray of food to Ron's desk and set it down, pulling out the chair and settling down on it. "How are you holding up?"

Ron looked up at him with bloodshot eyes; it was clear that he'd been crying. "Been better."

Harry nodded. "She's not gone forever, you know. She'll be back."

Ron shook his head angrily. "But she won't, will she? Not back with me, I mean. It's over." He shuddered. "I want to be angry with her. I want to find her and shake her and yell at her. I want to tell her that she's wrong, and that she hurt me, and that I'll never forgive her. But I can't, because I get it." He held up the note; it was crumpled, and Harry was thankful Hermione had made it impossible to rip up. "I understand. I know what happened in the battle, Harry. I know what she did. We all had to do things, nasty things, but she suffered so much more. She did it for us, all of us, I get that. But as much as I try, I can't stop feeling sick about it. 'Mione was always my example, you know? Of how a person ought to be. Hardworking, honest, faithful. I just can't make the two match you know? The way I see her in my head, and how she looked that night, covered in blood. I bathed her, you know, afterwards. The water was so red..." his voice trailed off. "I understand why she left; not just Grimmauld Place, but me. Yeah, she has to find her parents, okay. But she left me because I couldn't leave her. She wrote it all down for me here, and she was right. We wouldn't have happy, not in the long run. I would have wanted her to be the girl I fell in love with, and that's just not possible anymore. Just like I can't be the boy I was before my brother died. War changes people. We can't pretend to be the same people we were at Hogwarts. It fucking sucks." He laughed joylessly.

"It fucking sucks." Harry agreed. He sat there in the dark with his best mate, both quiet, lost in thought.


	25. Hollow

She stood in the airport with her shaky arms wrapped tightly around her body. The trembling didn't stop there; it spread down her body and wound its way around her toes. She clenched her jaw tightly to keep her teeth from chattering. This was it. She had left Grimmauld Place, left Harry and Ron and Ginny and her magical family. And now here she was at the airport. All she needed to do was buy a plane ticket to Australia and she would officially be re-entering the Muggle world. She had no real plans, just a vague idea of where her parents may be. Close to the shore, most likely (they loved the ocean), and probably in a bigger city. Sydney, Brisbane, Melbourne, Adelaide, Perth... there were too many choices. She had decided to start in Sydney, simply because she liked the idea of the city. Perhaps her parents felt the same.

She had considered Apparating for a moment and just as quickly dismissed the idea. She had no idea where to go; she was Determined, yes, and could be Deliberate, but her Destination was all wonky. She could picture the Sydney Opera house, but that was about it. She wouldn't be able to Apparate directly to Australia, of course; it was too far away and would require at least a dozen jumps, none of which she was at all familiar. And there was the small matter of the Indian Ocean. Thus, the airplane.

Hermione hated flying. Broomstick, Thestral, magical motorcycle or airplane, it was all lost on her. There was no other choice though; it had to be an airplane, and it had to be today. She was afraid she'd lose her nerve if she waited any longer.

She approached the ticket counter cautiously, her trunk bouncing on its rickety wheels with every step. The woman at the counter appeared to be frustrated at her computer, so Hermione waited patiently in silence.

"Be right with you love, if this bloody piece of rubbish machine would unfreeze." The woman lightly hit the computer with her open palm, cursing under her breath. "Ah ha! Magic. Hitting things always helps." She turned to face Hermione with what appeared to be a well-rehearsed simulated smile. "How can I help you today?"

"I'd like a ticket to Sydney, Australia, if you please. First availability."

"Just one ticket, love?"

"Yes, please." She nervously shifted her weight, regretting the flight before she even got on the plane.

"Hmmmm, okay, let's see here... the next flight takes off in just over two hours. There are two seats left; one is a middle seat and the other next to an emergency exit. Would either of those do?"

"Yes, the emergency exit, please." 'That way I can jump out of the plane if we go down,' she thought, and almost laughed aloud at her neurotic internal monologue. Yeah, sure, this was a great idea.

"Alright miss, I just need to see a form of identification. How would you like to pay for this ticket?"

Hermione handed the woman her Muggle ID card and the credit card she kept for emergencies. Her parents had given it to her before sixth year, and she hadn't found any real reason to use it. This seemed like a good enough excuse.

"Herm... Hermony?"

"Erm, it's Her-my-oh-nee."

"Ah, lovely. Well, Herm... Miss Granger. Do you have any bags?"

Hermione lifted the trunk onto the scale and the woman put a tag on it. She was handed her ticket, and Hermione watched as her trunk was lifted onto the conveyer belt. It disappeared seconds later. She thanked the woman, took the tickets, and cursed the Wright Brothers for their ludicrous ingenuity.

She made her way to security and was easily through the line in a matter of minutes. She slowed her pace as she approached her gate. She wasn't ready to sit yet, wasn't ready to think. Taking note of the location of her terminal, she made her way to the airport book shop and perused the shelves.

Mindlessly she flipped through the stacks, picking up books at random and placing them down just as listlessly. Romance, mystery, horror... she'd had enough horror, thank you very much. And romance didn't seem to be a good choice at the moment, either. She settled on a classic science fiction novel that was supposed to be both funny and irreverent. "So long, and thanks for all the fish." She smirked. Yes, that would do just fine.

Hermione still had quite a bit of time to kill, so she meandered towards the coffee shop ahead. After a few minutes spent on a much too difficult caffeinated decision, she found herself wandering the terminal once more. That got old quickly, so she made her way towards the designated gate.

She blew a concentrated puff of air on her Irish Cream Mocha, watching the tendrils of hot steam disappate. She looked up from her seat to the counter for the upteenth time to where an airline employee stood. The man seemed calm, even with the line of people in front of him. She felt anything BUT calm right now; her stomach did a small flip and she felt the long-absent yet still familiar pull of nausea that came with flying. Or even preparing to fly. Or even thinking about it.

She closed her eyes tightly, concentrating on her breathing. How ridiculous that THIS would be the one thing that threatened to make her lose her tightly held control. She had killed Death Eaters, faced Voldemort, helped kill Voldemort... but now more than ever she felt the sudden and irrepressible need to flee, or scream, or both. Not that doing either would draw attention to her, no, not at all.

"Now boarding Group 1, now boarding Group 1." The man's voice was smooth and steady. 'How is everyone else not going completely mental right now?' Hermione thought. Passengers began forming a queue to the right of the counter. She looked down at her ticket once more; she knew she was in Group 3, she had checked it no less than ten times in as many minutes. 'Bloody hell.' The all-too-familiar phrase ghosted through her mind before she could stop it, and the obvious connotation only brought sorrow. She needed to get on that plane. She needed to get away, to find her parents, to set things right. Even if her parents hadn't been in Australia, she would have found some reason to flee. This was not only a reconnaissance mission, but an escape plan. She would find her folks, change their memories, do the best to win back their trust, and start a new life. Yes, that sounded like a good idea. She'd get a job, maybe, something easy and a bit dull. She longed for tedium and busywork, anything to keep her mind off of the past months. A cashier, or a secretary, perhaps.

"Group 3, now boarding Group 3." Shiiiiiiite. This was it. She collected her belongings,which wasn't exactly difficult. Backpack? Check. Coffee? Check. Complete lack of confidence in planes and a paralyzing fear of flying?

Check.

The walk down the jet bridge was fraught with anxious breathes and far too much perspiration. Hermione kept her eyes in front of her as she found her way to the emergency exit seat. When her backpack was stored in the overhead bin and she was settled, she pulled out her book and took a long drag on her mocha. Caffeine and sugar probably weren't the best things to consume when one was in the middle of what was certainly the beginnings of a panic attack, but she didn't care. The warm, chocolately goodness filled her to her toes and she concentrated on the texture of the drink and the subtle hints of what was supposed to be whiskey. If only it were the real thing...

She was so lost in her attempts to distract herself from where she was that she didn't notice the older woman sit down next to her. It was only when the soft bit of what looked to be the beginnings of a scarf landed in her lap that she realized she was no longer alone in her row.

"Oh, sorry, dear! Got away from me, it did." The woman appeared to be in her late sixties, and she wore an aubergine colored mohair sweater. Her face had a nice softness to it, and Hermione noticed the many smile lines around her mouth and eyes. Her hair was the perfect shade of medium gray, a color many women would cover with a dye. Hermione thought it was quite stunning on the woman.

"Oh, it's fine." She waited, deliberating if this would be the sort of plane ride she'd rather enjoy in silence, or if distraction would be appreciated. Remembering how very long the flight would be, she decided that the woman's company was appreciated. "Are you knitting a scarf?" she asked hesitantly. Just because she wanted to chat didn't mean the woman would be amenable.

"Oh, I'm not sure yet. I rather enjoy the sensation of knitting - keeps me relaxed, you know - and sometimes I just start without any sort of plan. It may be a scarf, or a panel for a blanket, or I may just as well decide to rip the whole thing apart and start again. It's the act of knitting that I love more than the result. Do you knit, dearie?"

Hermione smiled, remembering the knobby and less-than-perfect hats she had attempted to make the house elves at Hogwarts. "I do, but not very well. And I don't think I've ever just started knitting for the sake of it. I'm sort of a planner." That was an understatement.

The woman stood up and grabbed her bag from the overhead bin, emptying it item by item onto her seat. Hermione smiled as she noticed a worn copy of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe appear, along with a number of peppermints, a picture of what could only be the woman's grandson, and a small pouch of what looked to be tissues. "Ah, here we are!" The large woven bag went back up in the overhead bin and the woman sat down, handing Hermione a smaller set of knitting needles and a very large skein of multi-colored yarn. "Now. You should be able to finish a scarf, or a hat, or a lovely bit of something by the time we land. But start off just knitting, dear, for the love of it. I think you'll find it's quite cathartic."

Hermione smiled at the woman and took the supplies, tucking her book next to her on the seat and downing the last bit of coffee. "Thank you, that's very nice of you..."

"Madeleine, dear, Madeleine Montgomery." She held out her hand and Hermione took it.

"Hermione Granger. It's a pleasure."

The two women sat in silence for a bit as Hermione began to cast on. She tried her best not to plan out what she was making; it was difficult, but once she got used to the movement of the needles she allowed herself to simply enjoy the repetitive motion.

The flight attendant came around with beverages and Hermione settled on ginger ale; she hadn't had the drink for years, as carbonated beverages were largely unknown in the wizarding world.

"Madeleine, that picture in your purse, is that your grandson?"

The older woman beamed, and Hermione knew it had been the right question to ask. "Why yes, that incredibly beautiful boy does belong to me. His name is Sebastian, and he's just about two years old. In fact, I'm going to Australia to celebrate his birthday! My daughter, Leila, married a charming Australian man she met at university; I love him as my own, only I do wish they lived closer." She frowned. "What about you, dearie, are you on holiday?"

Hermione decided to tell the truth, or a version of the truth. "No, I'm actually going to see my parents. We've been a bit... estranged for the last couple years, and I'm hoping to reconnect with them."

Madeleine nodded sagely. "That's very good to hear, very good indeed. Family is so incredibly important, you know. We don't know the number of our days, of course, so it's necessary to keep close to the ones that we love. Young people don't always understand that, it seems. It's a wonderful thing you're doing, dear, reaching out like that."

Hermione nodded and opened her mouth to speak once more but found herself unable to do so. Horrified, she felt unbidden tears streak down her face. She turned her head in an effort to hide the sudden outburst of emotion, but it was too late.

"Ohhh dearie me, I've said too much. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry, Hermione."

The young woman shook her head, wiping away the tears. "No, no, it's fine, Madeleine. It's just that I miss them so much, and I suppose I just sort of tried to push them out of my mind for the last two years. I was... well I was involved in some things that they probably wouldn't approve of, and it lead to our parting ways. My friends have sort of been my family since then, but as much as I love them, it's not the same as my mum and dad, you know?" She looked down at her hands. "I just hope they can forgive me."

Madeleine's posture changed, and she sat straight up in her seat. "Now you listen her, girl. Your mum and dad, they love you. I've only known you for an hour, but I can tell you are a kind and loving daughter, no matter what it was that kept you apart from your folks. I'm not saying it's going to be easy, but your parents are still your parents; they will welcome you home with open arms, mark my words. It's their job to love and care for you, and it's your job to show them that they can trust you not to up and leave again, okay? When you see them, don't give them excuses; just tell them that you're back, and that you love them, and that you want to be a family again. The rest will come, child."

The tears that had been trailing down her cheeks before were now a torrential stream. She felt all the emotion from the past few days course through her. She cried for her mum and her dad, for Professor McGonagall and Gregory Goyle and Zacharias Smith. She cried for Harry, her best friend, and Ginny, the closest thing she had to a sister. And she cried for Ron. She could only hope one day he would understand and forgive her.

Madeleine enfolded Hermione into a somewhat awkward side-hug, and the witch fell into the comforting embrace, allowing her tears to soeak the woman's shoulder. She should have felt embarrassed, carrying on like this, and in front of a relative stranger, but the comfort the woman gave was like a soothing balm. When all her tears were spent, she sat up and looked out the window. "I'm sorry about that, crying on your shoulder like a child. You've been so very nice to me; thank you."

"To weep is to make less the depth of grief."Madeleine smiled. "That's Shakespeare, or so a greeting card told me once. I always thought it was a wise word." She reached over and squeezed Hermione's hand.

Hermione let out a shaky laughed and turned back to the woman. "Yes, Henry VI, I believe, although I'm not sure which part, exactly."

"Ahhh, so she reads! In the middle of anything good now?"

"Well, I just picked up The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. I'm not usually one for science fiction, or fiction in general, but it's a favorite of my dad's. I've only a vague idea of what it's about, but Dad liked to quote it sometimes. Something about fish, and towels, and forty-two."

That led to quite a long discussion about other books, and other genres, and the comparison on the benefits and drawbacks of paperback versus hardcover. Before long, Hermione's mood had lifted and she barely registered the fact that her knitting had improved quite a lot since her S.P.E.W. days.

* * *

Draco Malfoy awoke to a bright, sparse room and soft snoring. He looked down to see Astoria; her wheat blonde hair was a mess, and he could tell she had been tossing and turning in her sleep. The fact that her movements hadn't woken him up in the night was a true testament to how exhausted he must have been. Hell, the fact that he had apparently fallen asleep with all his clothes on, and in the same bed as Astoria, no less, spoke volumes.

He slowly untangled himself from her limbs, taking care not wake her. Theo had died last night; well, that wasn't true, it could have been months before, but the impact of his friend's death was still as fresh as if it had happened hours ago. 'Gods, Theo, I told you to get out while you could. I told you to come with me. I wish I would have made you listen.'

He turned to the bedside table and saw Astoria's bag there. He opened it and peered inside at the disarray. He shuddered. A woman's purse (or in this case, small closet) was a scary thing, indeed. He pointed his wand into the clutter and whispered, "Accio underpants. Accio jumper." It was a bit crude, but it worked. He looked over to see if Astoria had awoken at his words; not only did he want to give her the chance to sleep more, but he DEFINITELY didn't want her to hear him calling for his briefs. They were good friends, but she was still a Slytherin, and she wouldn't hesitate to tease him mercilessly.

The garments flew into his hand, and he was thankful, once again, that he had been able to pack one extra outfit and several pairs of briefs before fleeing Nott Manor. Would have been awful embarrassing to wear the same pair over and over, no matter how many scouring charms he used.

He headed to the door in order to find the bathroom when he saw a small stack of clothes on the unused bed. Frowning, he stood in front of the pile and studied it from a safe distance, not wanting to touch. Potter must have dropped this off for him after last night's awkward "I'm poor now" confession. He blushed at the thought of having to borrow clothing from a Gryffindor of all people; what had he become? He was the Malfoy heir! 'The Malfoy heir who has been alternating between two very dingy outfits for the last how many weeks?' He sniffed at his current ensemble and wrinkled his nose. With a sigh he began picking through the clothing. He sneered at the overly bright red sweater with a golden snitch and cast it aside. A red t-shirt with the words "Chudley Cannons" wasn't even touched; Draco used his wand to move it onto the 'no' pile. He may be some sort of peasant now, but he had standards. "Well well well, what do we have here?" he whispered, pulling a green and white striped tee from the pile. "Slytherin green, how very interesting." He put it in the 'yes' pile and continued sorting. When he had four t-shirts, two decent jumpers and a worn pair of denims in hand, he left the room to find the lavatory.

After a decadent and relaxing hot shower (the cottage had TERRIBLE water pressure) Draco emerged to try on his new used clothing. The jeans looked as if they may be a bit tight, if not a couple of inches too short, but he tried them on anyway. Once he shook the revolting thought of wearing Potter's denims, he stopped to admire himself in the mirror. "Damn, I look good." They were a bit tight, but he decided he rather liked the look. A quick wave of his wand and the hems extended another three inches. Reaching back into the pile, he slipped on the green striped t-shirt. It, too, was a bit short, and was fixed easily with magic. He made his way through the rest of the pile, noting happily that everything fit just fine once he transfigured a few garments. He stopped and looked at himself for a long while. It was the first time he'd worn a t-shirt anywhere other than bed. The denims were a brand new experience; his upbringing taught him that one must dress according to their ranking in life. As such, his closet at the Manor had been full of expensive button-ups, hand-tailored slacks, and many, many custom-made suits. He found the comfort and casual air of his new clothes to be rather addictive. He didn't have to worry about wrinkles, either, which was a plus. And if he spilled? Hell, they were Potter's clothes.

Happy with his new wardrobe, as slim as it may have been, he stepped outside the bathroom and into the hallway. It was then that he remembered that not only was he in Potter's clothes but Potter's house. He felt a sudden urge to run back to the room where Astoria lay and climb into the other bed. If he could get himself to fall back asleep, maybe he could get adjusted to a more nocturnal schedule. Then he wouldn't have to deal with Pothead or the Weasel at all. That, however, was a coward's way out, and Draco was done with that sort of behavior. He dropped the excess clothing next to the bedroom door and stood looking down at the stairs. With a groan, he began the descent to the kitchen, and to the reality of his very pathetic, very frustrating new living situation.


	26. Here

The walk down the steps felt arduous, but perhaps that had more to do with Draco literally dragging his feet on each and every one. He came to the landing on the first floor and saw the light on in the kitchen below. Yes, he was definitely going to have to face Pothead or the Weasel. Merlin, he hoped they both weren't down there. Two Gryffindors were too much to handle right now.

He snaked his hand up to brush his hair back once more. It had grown overly shaggy during his time of hiding (although he preferred the term 'seclusion') and it was in desperate need of cutting. He'd have to take Astoria up on that offer to trim it; she'd been bugging him for days now. Draco adjusted his clothing, feeling strange to be wearing it in front of Potter. It was one thing to accept charity (he growled at the thought), but another to actually wear it in front of the altruistic Gryffindor. Realizing he had no real choice, and that he may as well get used to humility (make that humiliation) he trudged into the kitchen.

Potter was there, sitting at the table. Thankfully the ginger was nowhere in sight. His pride could only take so much.

"Malfoy."

"Potter."

He looked anywhere but at the dark haired boy in front of him. He couldn't bear to see the shit-eating smirk across that face.

"Of course you'd pick the only piece of clothing that came in green."

He whirled around, his instincts preparing him for a fight, no matter that he felt far too raw to make a good opponent. But the smile on Potter's face seemed genuine, and his eyes were bright.

Well, that was new.

Unsure of how to react, he gave an indifferent shrug. Then an even stranger thing happened: Potter laughed. It was soft, but it was there. Draco fought the urge to smile in spite of himself as the ridiculousness of their current situation hit him. Never in a million years would he have ever pictured himself in a position such as this. Nor would he have expected that Potter seemed to actually be attempting a sort of polite behavior. There was no superior air to him, no judgment in his voice. It made Draco hate him a little less, at least for the moment.

"Thanks," he muttered, picking at the t-shirt. "It was decent of you."

The laugh that escaped Potter then was decidedly not quiet. Draco's eyes rushed to the Chosen One's face. He wasn't sure how to take any of this. He felt a tell-tale sneer start to make its way across his countenance. It was second nature by now.

Potter held up his hands in surrender. "Sorry, sorry, didn't mean to offend. It's just that's the second time you've thanked me in as many days. I can't decide if it's nice or nauseating."

Draco shifted uncomfortably. "Well."

Silence filled the room once more. The Slytherin's stomach rumbled loudly and he grimaced with embarrassment. Harry stood and walked to the refrigerator.

"Here," he said, pulling out what looked to be a casserole with a large missing chunk. "Molly... erm, Mrs. Weasley, made it. Have some, it's good. Eggs, sausage, peppers, cheese... you can't really go wrong." He sat back down at the table. "Oh, plates are in the cupboard above your head, and tea's in the cupboard to the left. Kettles on the stove."

Draco cautiously reached into the cabinet to grab a plate and dished himself up some casserole with the serving spoon resting in the dish. "Umm... forks?"

"Drawer to your left."

"Thanks."

Harry chuckled softly once more, and Draco tried to hide the blush he felt rising. Three times. Shite. He would never live this down. Yet he knew he owed these damn Gryffindors more than some measly thank yous. They had fought when he had fled. They had destroyed the Dark Lord, who had taken not only his innocence but his mother. He'd never be able to repay that debt. The thought bothered him more than he'd like to admit. Malfoys don't like to owe anyone.

He walked to the stove and grabbed the kettle. He reached for his wand and didn't find it. He patted his jeans, realizing that he must have left it upstairs along with the pile of clothes. Damn. What a foolish mistake, especially in an unknown house of an enemy. He cocked his head, considering the term. Potter wasn't acting like an enemy now. In fact, he had been nothing but kind, really. Even the Weasel had been decent enough yesterday, for a prat. Perhaps enemy was too strong a word.

Glancing down at the stove, he realized he had no idea how to make tea without magic. Potter must have sensed his weakness, because he stood and walked over. Draco slowly shrunk back, not wanting to be within punching distance of the Boy Who Lived while unarmed.

"Do you know how to use a Muggle stove?" Draco pursed his lips, but shook his head. "It's not hard. Here, let me show you. Grab the kettle, fill with water, put it on the heating element and then you click one of these knobs here. They're labeled, as you can see. Well you can't see from there, get over here." Draco hesitantly walked forward. "See? Turn this to hot. Each knob corresponds to an element; make sure you pick the right one. Now we wait."

Draco looked down at his cold plate. No wand to heat it up. He'd rather eat his breakfast frozen than ask for help, so he squared his shoulders and carried it to the table. Potter followed him, picked up the plate, and walked over to the counter where a strange box sat.

"This is a microwave. You put the food in, press these buttons, and it heats the food up."

Draco grumbled and looked away.

Harry shook his head and turned the thing on. In less than a minute, Draco heard a beeping sound, and Potter took out the plate and sat it in front of him once more. To his disbelief, the food looked to be piping hot, judging from the steam rising from it. It smelled bloody delicious.

His eyebrows rose and he said the words before he thought about them. "That's fantastic!"

Potter laughed once more. "Yes, yes it is. Takes just about as long as a warming charm, and it has better results." Just then the kettle screamed, and he walked to turn it off. He returned with two cups of tea and two spoons. "Milk and sugar are at the end of the table."

Draco nodded and set about preparing his tea just the way he liked it, with extra sugar. He remained quiet for a few long minutes, but then his curiosity got the best of him. "That microwiz..."

"Microwave."

He dismissed the word with a wave of his hand. "That's what I said. Muggles made that?"

Potter nodded. "Yeah, we have a lot of Muggle devices here. Hermione insisted when she moved in last year. Said that magic can only get you so far." He laughed. "Ron thought she was mental, and then she introduced him to the television. Now he's obsessed."

Draco wrinkled his nose. Television... sure. Whatever that was. "So Granger's gone, then? I mean, I couldn't help but overhear what you said last night."

A long sigh. "Yeah, she's gone."

He nodded as if he understood, but he didn't. The Golden Trio was... well, a trio. It was always the Mudb... Muggleborn, the Weasel, and the bloody Chosen One. Always.

"Is she alright then?"

Potter looked up at him sharply, and all kindness was gone from his eyes. "Like you care, Malfoy? Worried about the poor Mudblood, are you?"

Draco's teeth ground as he resisted lashing out. "Not terribly. It's not like we've ever been on good terms. Still..." he sighed, the fight gone out of him. It wasn't worth it. "I know what the Dark Lord had prepared for her. It's why I left; he wanted me to do it. And think what you may of me, but I just couldn't do that. And judging from the fact that you somehow got information out of Theo, I'm guessing it was he who took my place." He breathed deeply, not really wanting the answer to his next question. "Did you torture the information out of him?"

The look in the dark haired boy's eyes was difficult to read. "Not me. Hermione."

Well that was a surprise.

Potter spoke once more, and it was impossible to ignore the sadness in his voice. "How much do you want to know?"

Draco considered the question. Did he want the details? Did he deserve them? Deciding that the truth was better than the myriad of possibilities he could imagine, he spoke. "All of it."

Harry squirmed in his seat. He had worried that would be the response, but he understood, once more, where Malfoy was coming from. If it had been Ron, he'd have wanted every detail. He'd want to know the truth, even if it killed him.

Potter pointed to a door off the kitchen. "It ended there. A week ago." He sipped his tea, trying to collect his thoughts. May as well start from the beginning. He cast a quiet Muffliato just in case. He didn't want Ron to have to relive it all, not at a time like this, and he wasn't sure it was something Astoria ever needed to hear.

He rose from the table to grab the kettle. May as well hunker down for the long haul. On second thought, maybe the firewhiskey as well. Sure, it was still morning (although, not for long), but what the hell.

Seated again with the tea, alcohol, and shot glasses, he began. "Hermione was taken while guarding the perimeter of Hogwarts, right on the edge of the forbidden forest. We had no idea what had happened; her wand was just lying there, and there was evidence of a person lying on the ground, along with a man's footprints. It was then that we realized she must have been taken. There were no prints leading away from the scene, no signs of a struggle. We assumed it was Death Eaters, of course." He looked at Malfoy pointedly, as if daring him to disagree. "We searched for weeks. We went to your house, of course."

Malfoy lowered his eyes but nodded, encouraging him to continue.

"Obviously she wasn't there; the manor was burnt to the ground. It was day forty-seven that we found her. She was so hurt, so weak..." Damn. He was choking up again, remembering her that way. Now wasn't the time to get emotional. "We didn't find out all that happened at first; she slept for days. It was Ron who found the scars. She wouldn't give us the full story, so I used Legilimency on her."

He looked up when he heard Malfoy gasp. He looked sick. Once again, Harry felt the shame of his actions. "Yeah, she didn't take it too well either. The things I saw..." he turned away, hiding his pain. "He broke her down, physically, mentally, and emotionally. He broke her spirit. Oh, but he built her up physically, of course; that way he could do it again. The scars were only the tip of the iceberg, so to speak."

Malfoy shook his head. "I'm not trying to make excuses for him, but the Theo I know wouldn't do those things. Couldn't, even. Sure, he wasn't a saint, but the kid never used the Killing Curse, could barely Crucio without getting sick. I don't understand." Theo, torture someone? And for that long? It didn't make sense.

"Yeah, well, we found that out too late, unfortunately. Hermione went into the room where he was being held and locked the door. She was there all night. The next morning we heard her screaming, and the door was unlocked. By then Nott was dead. He had been under the Imperius curse. Hermione found out at the end, when he was able to break through. He told her where Voldemort was, where you and Astoria were; he made her promise to find you both, to keep you safe. He was weak, from... from everything. Voldemort took the opportunity and killed him somehow, using the curse. His body just... stopped." He sighed. "I'm sorry Malfoy, we didn't know. If we had... well, it wouldn't have gone down like that."

The Slytherin nodded mutely.

"I mean it. I know we're arch enemies or whatever, but we wouldn't do that. I won't do that."

"Yeah, yeah, I know that. Bloody Gryffindors." He let out a long sigh. Did he dare the next words? "And Potter? I'm sick of being arch enemies, or whatever. It's too much work. I don't care anymore. We're a long way from Hogwarts. It just doesn't seem to matter anymore, any of that shite. If I have to be stuck in this house until my trial, I don't want to be watching my step every second."

"Agreed." Harry stuck out his hand, and it lingered there in the air.

It was all Draco could do not to be reminded of another handshake many, many years ago. The day that Potter refused his friendship. The beginning of their long, dysfunctional rivalry.

He stared at the hand in silence, then slowly reached his forward, worried that Potter would pull back at the last moment. It didn't happen. The gesture felt like an ending and a beginning.

It was a new day.

* * *

"Hermione? Hermione, dear, wake up, we're just about to start our descent."

She opened her eyes and looked out the window. Still ocean, lots and lots of ocean, but she could almost see something on the horizon that might be land, if she squinted hard enough. "Goodness, how long was I asleep?"

Madeleine laughed and shook her head. "Well, you slept through the snack they brought, (I snagged you a biscuit), and through breakfast, and lunch, and then through another snack. So about fifteen hours, I'd guess? Give or take."

Hermione gasped. "But I never sleep well on planes!"

"Well, then you faked it rather well." Madeleine smiled. "You had an emotional day, it's completely natural to need an extra long sleep afterward. And you should be glad, because you were lucky enough to miss the exceptionally terrible movies they showed. Why anyone would pick those films, I have no idea. Wild, wild west, indeed! We have about forty-five minutes until we land, dear, just enough time to finish up that scarf."

The witch looked down at her hands, which still somehow held her knitting supplies. "OH! I guess it is a scarf... I was just knitting," she smiled, "for the joy of it." She giggled softly, admiring the needlework. She had made a very lovely scarf, indeed. The colors were muted, and flowed one into another. Cranberry to pumpkin, mustard to olive, blueberry to eggplant. Her stomach rumbled. "May I have that biscuit, please?"

When she had eaten the biscuit, plus three peppermints and a small package of crackers Madeleine had located in her bag, she sat back and looked out the window once more. She could see the coastline rapidly approaching, and she felt her stomach give the familiar "oh-no-what's-happening" tug. Her hands gripped the armrest painfully tight and she shut her eyes. Sooner than she would have liked, they were over firm earth and she could see the buildings racing towards them. She let out a strangled gasp and closed her eyes once more.

"Do you know what I like to do when I'm nervous?" asked Madeleine. "I like to recite my multiplication tables."

Hermione's eyes flew open, and she was suddenly brought to that fateful night, just days ago. Standing in Grimmauld Place, reciting her tables, mustering the courage to go into battle. "I do that too," she whispered.

"How about we say them together?"

The woman softly recited their tables, their hands flying over yarn and needles, and before Hermione knew it, they were on the ground.

Hermione found it hard to say goodbye to Madeleine; she had only spoken with her for what really amounted to four or five hours, but it was enough time that she felt a bond with the woman. She hesitated outside the gate, not wanting to say goodbye to her new friend.

"Well, Hermione, dear, it has been an absolute pleasure being your seat partner. How long did you say you'll be in Sydney?"

Hermione hadn't. She had no idea how long it would take her parents, or if they were even in the state. And if perhaps she did manage to locate them in Sydney, would they want to leave? She hadn't told Madeleine about not knowing where her parents were; it would seem something to be pitied, a young girl in an unknown country, searching for her family.

"Ah, I'm not sure, exactly. I suppose it depends on how everything works out with Mum and Dad. I'm hoping to see the sights, you know." She waved her hand and attempted a breezy disposition.

"I see. Do you have a mobile phone, my dear? I'd like to give you my number, and my daughter's home number, just in case."

"I don't, actually. I have email, though."

"Well, that will have to do. Here, take these numbers, just in case." Madeleine pulled out a piece of aquamarine colored paper with her contact information on it. Hermione smiled; she had obviously written it down when the young girl was asleep. Madeleine's proper cursive handwriting was perfect, and her willingness to offer support made Hermione feel at once appreciative and emotional.

Hermione handed over her email address (she had set hers up years before and hadn't checked it since) and accepted Madeleine's warm hug. Hermione promised once again that she'd contact Madeleine if she needed any help while in Sydney. "After all, my dear, I have family here, and I myself will be in the city for the next month."

Hermione turned to walk away when a hand pressed into her arm. "Remember what I said, dear. Your parents love you; show them they can trust you, and don't give excuses. The rest will come."

Hermione nodded mutely, and with a wave, the older woman was off, and Hermione was alone once more.

It was an hour later that she found herself in a small hotel room, key in hand. She laid her trunk on the extra bed and pulled out a map of Sydney. She would look for an internet cafe first, she decided. She needed dinner, and a computer. "If Mum and Dad do have a practice, that would be the easiest way to find it." After that... shite. After that, she had no clue.


	27. Haven

The conversation may have lagged after that slightly-awkward handshake, but Draco didn't mind, because the breakfast casserole was bloody delicious. He gobbled it down in a very un-Malfoy-like fashion; all those years of etiquette went down the drain as he devoured every last morsel of the dish, savoring the mingling flavors. He hadn't eaten since breakfast the day before, and he and Astoria had been living on what really amounted to little more than bread and water. Neither felt safe leaving the cottage, and neither wanted to be the one left alone inside the cottage.

Draco had arrived at the beginning of March to find a very anxious Astoria. She had felt the wards shiver when he passed through, but she had thought it to be Theo. No one else knew where she was, and no one else knew the incantation that would allow them through the wards unharmed. When she opened the door to stare at Draco Malfoy, the disappointment was palpable. She hadn't spoken to him the first four days, not even after he explained, again and again, how he had tried to convince Nott to leave with him. It was when they had finally run out of the little food Astoria had managed to store up that she spoke to him long enough to ask him to go into the nearby Muggle village and gather some essentials.

Even with a powerful transfiguration spell, that little outing had been one of the most frightening things Draco had ever done. He had practically flown into the tiny market, and had grabbed everything in sight. When his cart was overflowing, he had paid for the food with the Muggle money Astoria had supplied him with and fled. It was only when he was a half mile away, hidden from view behind an abandoned warehouse, that he was able to gather his groceries and Apparate away without the threat of splinching himself. Even then, his quaking limbs failed him, and he had fallen to the grass in front of the cottage, retching violently.

That was how Astoria had found him, on his knees, sitting in his own sick. It was the lowest of his low points, at least until now. Something told him that even with his truce with Potter, the next few days were going to take a special sort of patience.

Those long weeks at the cottage took a turn for a better once they had more food. Astoria had taken pity on him after seeing him literally down in the dirt. As Slytherins, they knew how to band together; at Hogwarts, it was a necessity. Slytherin house may have a penchant for racism, it was true, but it didn't help that the rest of the school treated them as pariahs.

During fifth year, Draco had developed a crush on a beautiful Ravenclaw girl one year younger. She was half-blood, which his parents wouldn't be fond of, but she was brilliant, and beautiful, and she had such a lovely smile. When he had finally worked up the nerve to ask her to Hogsmeade (for asking a girl on a date was terrifying for any young man, whether he be Gryffindor or Slytherin, tall or short, introverted or extroverted), she had turned him down in a very public, very embarrassing fashion. After that, he was even more set on keeping to his house and its pure-blood ideals. It was in Draco's sixth year that he was officially introduced to Astoria; she had been a young, seemingly innocent fourth year that had caught Theo's eye. The introduction was a pleasantry, mostly, as Draco had seen the girl many times before. They shared the same house, which meant they shared the same common room, of course. She had a sister in Draco and Theo's year, as well. Daphne Greengrass had always been an aloof, snobby sort, and not in the fun way that Pansy had about her. Astoria was different from the get-go, however. She had a sweetness to her that was rarely found in his housemates, female or male. It wasn't until he saw her expertly manipulate Theo into taking her to Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop that he truly saw her as a Slytherin. Still, he often thought she had more Hufflepuff in her than Slytherin, unless she was after something she truly wanted, in which case she could truly be as cunning as a snake.

Theo and Astoria had to see each other clandestinely, as Astoria wasn't allowed to date until she was sixteen. Even then, her parents were very strict about who she would eventually marry; a pure-blood, rich wizard with connections. Theo was pure-blood, yes, and rich, but his father was a known Death Eater, and a cruel man. While Lucius Malfoy was still largely respected in many circles, Nott Sr. was a known malcontent. There were many ugly rumors that his wife, Theo's mother, had died in a very suspicious way. There wasn't enough evidence to pin the crime on Nott Sr., but the evidence that was available permanently marred the Nott name in polite society. Because of this, Theo and Astoria kept a tight lid on their relationship, only showing affection in front of the few friends who knew of their love, including Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, and Pansy Parkinson. These were Theo's friends, of course; while they accepted Astoria, they weren't close to her.

During their time at the cottage, Draco got to know Astoria in ways he'd never have imagined at Hogwarts. All that time together in close quarters revealed the girl to be just as kind-hearted as she seemed. She had a very strong stubborn streak, though, and could become downright scary when someone she cared about was being threatened. Overall, she thought with her heart, and not her head. Draco found that particular trait to be both wonderful and worrisome. It was wonderful in that she accepted him as he was, Death Eater baggage and all. It was worrisome in that she was easily overwhelmed by other's problems; her empathy was her greatest gift and her greatest burden. The two Slytherins had gradually built a friendship in those first few weeks, and before Draco knew it, Astoria became the closest thing he had ever had to a sister. The affection he felt for her baffled him at times; it was like nothing he'd known before. He'd do anything for the younger girl.

When he had felt the wards come down the day before, he had been prepared to die rather than let her come to harm. A sharp knock on the door had reverberated throughout the small house. It was peculiar; most Death Eaters sent on a killing mission didn't knock. Even stranger was the familiar voice that called out, "Oi, Malfoy, open the bloody door." It had been a shock to see the unpleasant face of Ronald Pauper Weasley, but to see Kingsley Shacklebolt… well that was another feeling entirely. He knew he'd be punished for his crimes, but Kingsley was an Auror, and his very presence filled Draco with relief. They would be safe, now. If he cooperated with the Aurors, he might even be able to secure himself a private cell in Azkaban, away from the more violent and unsavory types. After all, being a Death Eater defector meant that he had no one on his side; not the Order, not the Ministry, and definitely not his former Death Eater comrades.

Now he just had to make it until trial. Judging by Potter's behavior, he didn't have to worry about the Chosen One throttling him in his sleep. Weasley, on the other hand, would be difficult. The threats he had showered upon Draco during their short time together only added to Draco's trepidation. He'd have to watch his back, and Astoria's as well. It was Astoria's beau that had captured and tortured Granger, after all. As much as he hated the Weasel, he would understand if the prat wanted revenge. He only hoped it wouldn't be taken out on a young woman.

Almost as if he knew what Draco was thinking, Potter suddenly spoke up. "Just so you know, you're safe here, Malfoy. You're officially under Order protection; no one can touch you until trial, you understand? And I'm not just saying that; Kingsley placed protective spells on both you and Astoria. None of us can so much as smack you until Kingsley releases you from that protection."

Well that was surprising. He wouldn't have expected such care, even from Kingsley Shacklebolt. Well, maybe for Astoria, but certainly not for himself. He knew that he deserved what was coming to him. Punishment was inevitable, and he'd just have to be as cooperative as possible in hopes of receiving a small measure of leniency.

"Speaking of the trial, do you happen to know approximately when that will take place?" He wasn't ready to go to Azkaban anytime soon, but this limbo was already getting to him, slowly stripping away his calm.

"Kingsley seems to think that the Ministry will be ready for the very first trials in about a week, two at the most. Many of the members of the Wizengamot fled during the war, of course, but at least half are back. There will need to be new members to make up for those who were killed. That's what's holding things up now, I believe."

Draco nodded. "I know it isn't my place to ask favors, Potter, but if there's any way that you could put in a word for me with Shacklebolt... it's just that I'd rather be one of the first to stand trial. I've been waiting to be found out for months now, either by Death Eaters or the Order. I'd just as soon get it over with, if I'm meant for Azkaban." He shuddered at the word. He had heard stories about what happened in Azkaban, stories from his father and other Death Eaters. It was a dark place in every sense of the word. 'Father...' He had put any thoughts of his family in the back of his mind, and now it was all he could do not to think of his parents.

Potter was staring at his quizzically. "You're ready to face Azkaban, are you?"

Draco nodded, averting his gaze. "It's what's in store for me, I know it is. And it's not like I don't deserve it. Aligning myself with the Dark Lord, cursing fellow students, letting Death Eaters into the castle, getting Dumbledore killed..." his voice trailed off. Those were only the things Potter knew about; if he knew what had occurred since their Hogwarts days... well, there was a good chance he'd be behind bars already, trial or no trial.

"Look, Malfoy, I'm not going to say that everything's going to be okay, because it's not. You're right, you did a lot of terrible things, but you're not the only one. Believe me... there are things that we've all done that should never be repeated."

Draco scoffed. He was sure that Potter believed what he said, but to Draco it was all rubbish.

"You have no idea. You can't know what it's like to live with real evil, day in and day out. It infects you. He lived in my home, Potter. He had my whole family under his thumb, Father most of all. The things that I saw... the things I had to do." He shuddered, remembering. "He was going to kill them. I did what I could, but it wasn't enough. My mum... I couldn't save her. No matter what I did, it wasn't enough for him, not after failing my mission." He spit the last word out as if it actually tasted bitter. "He ended up killing her anyway." He lowered his head to hide the tears that still came whenever he talked about his mother. She had loved him so fiercely, and he had let her down. All those years, she had been there for him, cared for him. She had never taken the Mark, never been officially the Dark Lord's. But in the end, it didn't matter. Voldemort had still claimed her as his own, killing her in the unique and revolting way he reserved for those Death Eaters on whom he turned his vengeance.

What would his mother think if she could see him now? He was so very different from the young boy he had been at Hogwarts. Would she have been proud of him for turning away from the Dark Lord? Would she have thought him a coward for hiding as he had? And then there was his father...

He needed to ask. Surely Potter would have some notion as to Lucius Malfoy's whereabouts. Taking a deep breath, he carefully made his face into the mask that he had worn throughout his time with the Dark Lord. His face betrayed nothing, yet, try as he might, there was still a vulnerability that could be seen in his eyes, if one were to look close enough.

"Regarding my father, Potter. Does the Ministry have any information on him?" The last words came out with an obvious pleading tone to them, and Draco mentally berated himself for showing weakness.

Harry looked down at the table nervously, unwilling to meet Malfoy's eyes. Regardless of the truce, he wasn't fond the git. Still, no one deserved to lose both of their parents like that. And no one should hear of their demise from a former enemy. He cleared his throat uncomfortably and forced himself to look into the Slytherin's eyes.

Potter didn't need to say a word. It was all there, written on his face. Draco could see the pity, could feel the discomfort and sadness radiating off the other man. His father was gone.

"How... how did it happen?" He managed to choke the words out without any tears accompanying them, which was no small feat.

Potter shook his head. "We don't know, exactly. He was dead when we found him." Draco looked at him questioningly. "He was in the dungeon, along with many, many others. He had been chained to the wall. Judging from his state, he'd been there for awhile, and dead for days, maybe weeks."

Weeks? As a prisoner? That just didn't sound right. "But... I don't understand. Why would the Dark Lord keep him locked up like that? I loved my father, but he was not what many would consider to be a good man. Mother and I, we followed the Dark Lord because there was no other option. But Father... well he was the reason that we were all in that mess to begin with. He believed in all of that blood purity rubbish; the subjugation of Muggle-borns and Muggles alike, the natural dominance and superiority of pure-bloods."

"And you didn't, eh? I clearly remember you tormenting Hermione because she was filthy Mudblood." Harry spit the words out, recalling just why he hated Malfoy. All those years he had not only made his life hell, but Hermione's as well. All because of her parentage, something she had absolutely no control over.

Draco gritted his teeth in frustration. Yeah, so he'd been a right bastard spouting pure-blood superiority propaganda. That didn't mean he had truly believed it, or at least he didn't now. He felt the urge to lash out at Potter. Who did he think he was to judge him like that? He may be the bloody Chosen One, but he didn't know the first thing about Draco's life! He didn't know him at all... which is exactly why he thought he held the same ideals of his father. He felt his rage dissipate and it was replaced with a saddened sort of apathy.

"Think what you want of me, Potter, but that's not who I am anymore. I was a scared kid spitting racist dogma that I'd heard all my life. I was only repeating the things I'd learned as a child. And yeah, I was an ass to Granger. But you don't know how hard it was, being compared to that Muggleborn every time I came home from school. 'Why is a dirty Mudblood getting better marks than you, son? How stupid do you have to be that she could best you like that?' No matter what I did, no matter how hard I studied, I could never match up. Not in my father's eyes, at least. But I don't believe any of that blood bollocks anymore." He shook his head, his blonde hair flying around him like a halo. He laughed bitterly. "Not that it matters to any of you."

Harry didn't know what to think. He never expected to hear those words out of Malfoy's mouth. It was easy to think of him as a racist little prick, but this new Malfoy... what was he to do with him? Should he believe his words?

"What made you change your mind?"

Draco stiffened. He didn't want to answer, but he knew he had to give some reason for doing a one-eighty when it came to his personal beliefs. "I dunno, just happened, I guess." It was a lame excuse, but he was too emotionally worn to think of a good reason.

"What's the real reason?" Potter had been fiddling with his wand, but Draco saw the tendons in his arm bracing as his arm slowly rose. Fearing the Gryffindor would cast a Legilimens on him, which was the last thing he wanted, he spoke the truth.

"The Dark Lord, he had me kill a Mud... a Muggleborn. Penelope Clearwater. She was a few years ahead of us at Hogwarts. She was a sort of initiation for some of the newer Death Eaters. Theo Nott had been forced to use the Cruciatus Curse on her. It was terrible, not only for Clearwater, but Theo, too. He wasn't the same after that; it haunted him. Goyle, you remember him of course, he just about finished the job. She was barely conscious when it came to be my turn." Fuck, he was definitely going to Azkaban now. "I was supposed to kill her, but I was told to make her suffer, which meant no Killing Curse. I didn't want to, but I couldn't see a way out of it. I... I didn't want her to go through more pain than she already had, so I cast a non-verbal spell that helped her drift into unconsciousness." He swallowed, not wanting to finish the memory.

Harry felt sick as he listened. Malfoy had killed, after all. He tried not to judge the boy too harshly; Harry had killed at least one Death Eater in the fight outside Nott Manor. They had both taken a life, although Harry felt that his kill was obviously more justified. Judging from the way that Draco's whole body was shaking, the pure-blood agreed.

"I, uh... I walked over to her and knelt down, blocking her from everyone's sight. I knew I had to end it then, or I'd be forced to drag it out. The Dark Lord delighted in those Death Eaters who could properly make a killing last minutes, if not hours. I didn't want to hurt her, I swear, but she was already so broken... I don't think she would have made it, even with all the Healers at St. Mungo's." He swallowed noisily, bracing himself for the next words. "I cast a spell to snap her neck. She was dead instantly, but no one else knew that. It was then, when she was gone, that I made it look painful. The blood was everywhere. Blood, dark red blood. Blood that looked just like mine. She was a person, just a person, and I killed her. Desecrated her body. I murdered an innocent girl, and it was then that I realized that she was better than I could ever hope to be." The tears were falling freely now, rolling down his cheeks in steady streams. He didn't try to hide them, didn't brush them away. He stared defiantly at Potter, doing his best to keep his mask in place. "Penelope Clearwater was the first and last person I killed, and I deserve to rot in Azkaban for it. Nothing will change that."

Harry was troubled. He had felt revulsion listening to the story, but it wasn't aimed at Malfoy. Instead, it was aimed at Voldemort, but he was already dead. If what Malfoy said was true, he had put Penelope out of her misery in as compassionate a way as possible. It still make him feel sick, thinking of a classmate doing that to another classmate, but fact was fact. More than anything, he felt helpless. Broken. Nothing he said would bring Penelope back. Nothing he said would absolve Malfoy of his guilt. Nothing he said would give them any of them their innocence back.

Remembering the conversation he'd had with Ron the night before, he spoke. "There's nothing about war that's noble or brave. We're all just fumbling in the dark, trying to stay alive. You left when it got to be more than you could take. That's something. War changes people, Malfoy. Most of the time, it's for the worst. But if you came out of this nightmare with a better appreciation of human life, and with the knowledge that we're all people, regardless of blood status... well, that's something too." He stood slowly, taking his plate and mug to the sink. With his back still to the Slytherin, he spoke. "I'm sorry about your dad. The only reason for his imprisonment that I can think of is that he changed his mind about things too. Maybe he was a better man than we all thought." He walked through the door and up the stairs.

Draco stared the spot where Potter had stood. Had his father seen the light? Had Draco's defection spurred something in the man? He hoped... but he'd never know. And if his father had turned away from that monster, did that somehow make anything better? He was still guilty of many, many crimes. He still was the one who had molded Draco into the racist little prick he had been in school. He was still the one who withheld affection and praise, no matter how hard Draco sought after it.

He was still the only father he had ever known...

Alone in the kitchen, Draco put his head down in his arms and cried.


	28. Haunted

The next three days at Grimmauld Place passed in a fog of avoidance and sorrow. Astoria had kept herself ensconced behind the bedroom door, only coming out to use the bathroom. What little she ate (and it was very little, and only after Draco repeatedly expressed his concern) was brought to her by Kreacher. She spent the days trapped beneath duvets; the only comforts she allowed herself were the tears that flowed freely, and Draco, when she allowed him near her. The Malfoy heir had spent every night in Astoria's bed, holding her until her quiet sobs gave way to fitful sleep. He felt useless in this house, unable to truly console Astoria, and unwilling to spend too much time outside the bedroom for fear of an unavoidable altercation with Ron Weasley. And then there was his own pain at finding himself a sudden orphan. His relationship with his father had been tenuous at best these last three or four years, but the loss of a parent was never easy, no matter the strength (or weakness) of the bond. More and more Draco would find himself staring out the window, lost in memories and daydreams. Often his thoughts would drift to the confrontation with his father that he had planned for years in his mind. He had prepared the speech first in his sixth year, while working out plot after plot to kill his headmaster. He had prided himself on the Dark Mark he wore on his arm when he had first received the evil scar. How foolish he had been! Now the scar was there to remind him of his folly. How had he been so quick to willing take upon himself the mark of a monster? "I was chosen," he had told himself, over and over again. The youngest of the Death Eaters, passionate for the cause. When he had seen the face of true evil and the realities that accompanied such an abomination, he had been sick with shame. He had been only a child, playing with fire. And, as was wont to happen, he got burned. His failure to kill Dumbledore had been unforgivable in the Dark Lord's eyes. He had spent days in the dungeons of his own home, suffering Crucio after Crucio shot from his aunt's wand. Bellatrix had been appropriately sorry, but he knew it was a farce. Blood relative or not, she found only satisfaction in causing others pain. He was no different.

His parents had suffered for his failure as well. Lucius Malfoy was stripped of any authority, and they had all become as prisoners in their own home. Nothing Draco did made it better. He had grovelled with the best of them, making himself even more pathetic than he felt. Still, the Dark Lord gave no mercy.

Those long days and months had been so terrible, he had once considered the possibility of ending it all. He wasn't sure he would be able to do it himself, but maybe Theo... no. It had been too terrible a fate; it wasn't the dying that concerned him, it was leaving him mother alone. He would have fled long ago if it hadn't been for her. And when she was murdered... She had been dead less than an hour before he began plotting his escape in earnest. His father would be ashamed, of course. There was a good chance the Dark Lord would punish Lucius in Draco's stead, but still, the youngest Malfoy was undeterred. He felt pity for his father, yes, but more than that, he felt revulsion. His father had been his hero, once. When he was a young boy, he'd sneak glances at the mirror next to the entrance to the Manor, just to see he and his father walking together, heads held high. He would be the master of this mansion some day, and Lucius would be proud of him. It had been a fantasy he had held tight to in his first few years at Hogwarts. He imagine his father hugging him, saying, "I'm proud of you, son."

Those childhood dreams had been crushed years before, however. Even now, with his father dead, the long-memorized words rounded in his mind, again and again. Words that would wound his father, lay him low. 'How could you let me belong to him? I was just a child! You know how he is! How could you do that to your own flesh and blood? Don't you love me? Don't I matter?' The discussion had never come, though, and Draco wrestled between anger over never confronting his father and gratefulness that he had never caused his father more guilt than the man had presumably felt already.

At eighteen years old (nineteen in just over a week), Draco was the only remaining member of the Malfoy and Black lines. The two pure-blood households has been bastions of civility and purity in the wizarding world. Their bloodlines stretched back generations. The wedding of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black had been an incredibly lavish affair. The two households combined to produce a new family that was a beacon to those who prided themselves on being toujours pur. And now Draco Malfoy was all that was left. A legacy that went back centuries, all on his shoulders. "I should remain childless just on principle," he muttered to himself bitterly.

"Ahhh, but then no one would inherit those platinum blonde locks or that disgusted sneer, and wouldn't that be a pity?" The voice came from beneath a thick comforter, but even when muffled, Draco could hear the teasing in Astoria's voice. Her blue-green eyes peaked out from under the thick duvet.

Draco pretended to consider her point. "That would be quite a loss to world in general, it's true. Perhaps you're right, Story my dear. Genes like mine are much too good to waste." He smirked, and then contemplated his prospects. "Not that any woman would be interested in a former Death Eater, I'm sure."

She shook her head and her matted and greasy hair barely moved at all. "Don't say that Draco. You're more than just a former Death Eater. You're a wonderful friend, and you can make a damn good pancake. Now stand up tall, pick yourself back up, and get into the kitchen and make me some breakfast." Her eyes sparkled with jest, and Draco knew she was daring him to disagree with her. Astoria was a sweet girl, but she often got her way.

"I'll make you pancakes if you get your arse out of bed and wash that natty, disgusting hair of yours. It looks like a family of birds took up residence in it. And then died." Derision was clear on his face, but, try as he might, he couldn't keep the edges of his mouth from quirking upwards.

"You're a nasty git, Draco Malfoy." Astoria stood and walked to the mirror to take a look at herself. "Merlin, you're right! I look revolting!" Her hands flew to her head and she began to laugh. The sound was sweet to Draco's ears, and he walked towards her and drew her into his arms.

"It's good to hear your laugh again, Story." His words whispered across her hair, and he held his breath so as not to smell it.

She sniffed quietly, but the tears never came. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do without him. All I know is that I can't lose myself, you know? He did what he could to keep me safe; I owe it to him to keep on living and breathing and laughing. So I'm getting out of bed, and I'm going to join the world again. And if I need to stop and cry, then I'm going to do so. And if I need to eat an entire chocolate cake to get through the day, so be it."

Draco smiled and leaned back to rub her shoulders. "You're pretty mature for your age, you know that?"

She reached up and flicked his ear. "I'm less than a year and a half younger than you, Malfoy. Don't get all pompous on me now." She smiled. "Now get in the kitchen and make me some damn pancakes." She opened the door and was about to shut it when she stuck her head back in once more. "Don't forget the chocolate chips."

* * *

It had been four days since Hermione had left. Ron couldn't look around his bedroom without seeing something that reminded him of her. They had made love on this very bed, what, a week ago? More? Less? It hadn't been that long, anyways. He had been slow to give Hermione the affection she needed; he knew how she had felt about him, even back in school. It had taken a long time for him to make a move, though. There were so many times he had considered it, even as far back as fifth year. Every single time, he had convinced himself it just wasn't the right time. She was too bossy, or he was too dumb for her, or they'd never work out... She'd always been there, though, in the back of his mind. Even when he was too stupid to go to her, she was always an option, always a possibility, a promise. And now she was gone, and he was here, alone, and he felt almost as bad as he had when Fred died. Only then, Hermione had been there to comfort him.

So maybe this was worse.

He hadn't left his room in days. He knew he smelled rank from days without bathing. He knew he must seem pathetic, pining away for her like that, when she had just left. Did she miss him like he missed her? Was she broken up inside, like he was? Did she care, or had she already moved on?

The night she had left, he sneaked into her old room, just to feel her presence. He could still smell her. Her linens were gone, but he had crawled onto her bed and had breathed in the scent of her mattress. She was still there.

She had cleared out the entire room, and he guessed that some of her things had been moved to the attic; she wouldn't have brought all her books with her, of course; there were far too many. Under the bed he had found a simple leather bookmark she had favored back at Hogwarts. Embossed on the skin was a lion (the symbol of Gryffindor house), and her initials, HJG. He picked up the small trinket and held it in his hands for what felt like hours, just staring at the thing. He wondered if she had left it for him to find, and then thought again. That was far too sentimental and silly, not Hermione at all. It must have fallen.

He pulled the bookmark out of his pocket. He had kept it close since that night, looking at it now and then and wondering where his witch could be. She wasn't his anymore, of course, but still... he liked to think that he had parts of her that no one could ever know of; they had been each other's first, after all. That had to mean something, right? She'd never be able to forget him completely.

Looking around the room, he felt overwhelmed with her absence and yet he still felt her, expected her to walk through the door any moment. He had awoken just the day before to what he could have sworn was her saying his name. She wasn't there, of course, and this time he didn't have a Deluminator to point the way to her. It she wanted to stay hidden, she'd stay hidden. That's just the way it was.

He found himself wishing they had fought, that she had left as a result of a major blow-up. At least then he could feel angry at her. As it was, he just felt the loss. Ron understood now how someone could die of heartbreak. It was a physical pain, like nothing he'd ever felt. It was as if she had truly made her home in his heart, and then took that part with her when she left.

The worst part was the moment between sleeping and waking when he reached for her and felt nothing. The instant he remembered... that was the punch to the throat.

And yet he found himself revisiting memories of her, obsessing over every touch, every kiss. He let the pain in, opening his heart the whole way, knowing it would only make things worse and accepting it. He went after those remembrances that were almost tangible. The way she breathed when he kissed her, the tilt of her head when he said something funny and she tried not to laugh. The smoothness of her neck when her head was thrown back in rapture. The many, many ways she said his name: in jest, in passion, in derision. It didn't matter. He returned to them all, savoring the bitter and the sweet. He wallowed in his grief and loneliness, drank it in like water. It was really all he had left of her, his memories and the bookmark. Maybe some books in the attic. He allowed her presence to wrap around him like a cloak.

The memory of Hermione was a ghost in his home, and he welcomed the haunting.

* * *

Draco had made a stack of pancakes that was high enough to teeter precariously. The chocolately bits were still melted, and they oozed, fatty and delicious, out of tiny holes.

It had taken him longer than necessary to convince Kreacher to allow him to cook for himself (well, really for Astoria, but he wasn't about to pass up pancakes). The house-elf had insisted that no member of the most Noble House of Black should sully themselves with something as mundane and base as cooking. It was finally when Draco had asked, "Are you trying to make me angry?" that Kreacher had relented and given him back the mixing bowl and whisk. The door to the house-elf's nook had slammed shut after that, and Draco heard a banging on the wall he could only assume was Kreacher's head.

Damn elves.

Still, it was worth it. The pancakes looked and smelled delicious, and he knew Astoria would be pleased. All he cared was that she eat, and if he could get another smile out of her, all the better.

A nose from the second floor alerted him to her presence. Quickly he set the table, carefully balancing the leaning tower of pancakes. "Story, come and get it!"

Her eyes were once again red and watery, but her energy was practically crackling around them.

"What is it?"

"The Weasel," she spat out angrily.

Immediately Draco felt the hair on the back of his neck stand at attention. "What happened?"

She shook her head and smirked bitterly. "Oh nothing. Just saw him in the hallway and he took the time to tell me that not only was I a good-for-nothing blood supremacist Slytherin, but that I'm the reason his precious girlfriend is gone." Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks, and Draco saw that her chin was quivering out of control. "I... I didn't know what to say, so I just asked him what he meant. He told me to ask you. Do you know something you haven't told me, Draco?"

Shit. Shit shit shit. He didn't want to tell Astoria the truth about Theo's task from the Dark Lord. Shit.

He didn't make eye contact as he did his best to lie convincingly. "You know how it is when you lose someone. You have to blame someone, anyone, just to deal with it. He's just lashing out, love."

She smiled, but it was false and defeated. "You know, for a Slytherin you're a pretty shit liar."

He laughed humorlessly and motioned for her to sit down. "Only with you, Story." He served her up some pancakes and a generous portion of syrup. "First, eat, and then we'll talk, if you really want to know everything."

"Everything?"

He hesitated. Did he really want her to know these things about the man she loved? As much as he wanted to lie again, or pretend everything was fine, he couldn't. She was the closest thing he had to family, and that meant he had to be transparent with her, no matter what.

He nodded. "Everything."

Three large pancakes and one glass of orange juice later, he told her all he knew about what had happened to Theo from the night he had defected until the night Theo had died. All through the conversation, Astoria's face was blank. When he was finished she stood stiffly and whisked away invisible crumbs from her denims. "Thank you for telling me the truth, Draco. I need some time alone to process, I think." He reached out and grabbed at her hand, scared she'd fold up on herself once more. "I'll be okay, Draco, I promise. I just... I just need some time. Do you think you could sleep in the spare bedroom tonight? I just need to be alone for a while."

He nodded his consent to her retreating back and cast a warming spell on the pancakes, just in case anyone else felt hungry. Gods knew he couldn't eat just then. Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes as his hands fisted at his hair and he groaned low.

"Something wrong, Malfoy?" Ron Weasley stood in the doorway, looking defiant and ready for a fight.

Draco stood up from the table, not wanting to be lower than the Weasel. "Yeah, something is. Why'd you have to say that to Astoria? Hasn't she been through enough? She just lost her bloody boyfriend, she has no idea where her parents and sister are, and she's trapped in this house for gods know how long! Couldn't you just let her be?"

Ron took a step toward the Slytherin and laughed quietly; the sound was grating and goading. "Worried about your dear little witch, are you, Malfoy? Don't think I don't know what's been happening behind those doors. You and Greengrass have been sharing tight little quarters for months now, haven't you? Oh, but you've just been comforting her, is that right? Comforting, sure. You may be able to fool Harry, but I know you Slytherins. You have no heart at all, so don't pretend like you give a fuck about her or anyone else but yourself. You're a pathetic little sodding prick, and I hope they send your bloody arse to Azkaban. The Dementor's kiss is too good for your sort of garbage. I hope they kill you slowly."

Draco blinked, unsure of how to reply to such an onslaught. He honestly didn't know Weasley had it in him. He was almost proud of the peasant. "Look, Weasel, say what you want about me; Merlin knows most of it is true, and if it isn't, well, it's not like anyone is going to believe me anyway. But leave. Astoria. Out. Of. It. She may be a Slytherin but she's better than either of us. She didn't know about Nott's involvement with Granger, and there's no way in hell that she'd get involved with the likes of me, so kindly shut up about any supposed improprieties. She's an innocent, you have to be able to see that. She didn't make Theo do what he did, and she certainly wouldn't condone it. Don't blame her for Theo's choices and mistakes, or my own." He swallowed deeply. "Please."

It was the last word that got Ron's attention. Harry had told him about Malfoy's change in attitude and his new found tendency towards politeness, but it was still jarring to hear. He considered Malfoy's words. "Fine, I'll leave the Greengrass girl alone, but I'm still going to relish watching you get locked away, do you hear me? I'll be sitting in the front row that day, you can believe that." He grabbed a handful of pancakes (sans plate) and walked back up the stairs.


	29. Her

She woke that up that morning to a sore throat, a stuffy nose, and a wet pillow.

Again.

Slowly she dragged herself into a sitting position and squinted at the bright light streaming through the windows. She had forced herself to keep the shades open as she went to bed. The sunlight would rouse her from her sleep eventually; without it to wake her up, she found herself sleeping later and later into the day. Ten was fine, sure, but anything after noon was pathetic. Especially because Hermione Granger had always been a morning person.

She felt her cheeks and found them to still be wet with somnolent tears. Merlin, why couldn't she just get a decent night's sleep? If only she had a vial of dreamless sleep potion. She shuddered as she recalled her dream. No matter how she tried to fight the memories during the day, she couldn't control the terrors her subconscious awoke the moment she fell asleep. When her eyes closed, her mind opened, and her night was full of screams and cries and blood and dirt. The smell of burning flesh, of sour body odor, of that filthy tent where they had spent months straining for clues. The fear, the desperation, all of it was there, just behind her eyelids. No matter what she did, no matter how late she stayed awake or how many antihistamines she took, the dreams always came to her.

She tried to keep the visions as bay but they rose to the front of her mind, as they so often did first thing upon waking. She wasn't alert enough to block them out. Did she even want to, really? Reliving the nightmares every morning was its own form of torture, but in some ways it was better to embrace the chaos and pain, if only for a moment. At least this way it wouldn't be niggling at the back of her mind all day.

So she let the scenes fill her world again. Last night she had been back in that place, the dungeon where she had spent so many fear-filled days. Except it wasn't Nott this time, it was him, Voldemort. And he pushed her sanity further to the breaking point and he crushed her spirit a little harder and he was relentless in his cruelty. She could still feel his hissing breath against her skin as he whispered, "Tell me how it feels, Princess."

And then the scene had changed and she was back in the tent with Harry, and Ron had just left once more, but before he did so, he had said terrible, dreadful things to her. He had called her a murderer. He had spit at her feet, saying she was just as bad as him, just as evil, just as captivated by the Dark Arts. And she had believed it, if only for a moment.

And it wouldn't have been so bad except that some of the words she had heard with her very own ears, not long ago, on the roof of Grimmauld Place. When he had asked her how she could kill like that. When he had said that her actions sickened him. He said worse things in the dreams, of course, things that had rattled her even in her sleep. Because a part of her believed that Ron truly thought those things, even if he wouldn't say them.

Because he had said enough words already, words that broke her. And she couldn't help but wonder which words he kept to himself. What did he really think of her? What painful truths were written on his heart?

She had listened to all of it without a word, taken the criticism and the cuts. And then he had walked away. And in her dream, she was almost relieved. It was easier to watch him walk away than to be the one leaving.

* * *

The days dragged on and on, and she found herself reticent to leave the hotel as time drew on. She was still in Sydney, but there was no sign of her parents. The few leads she had discovered fizzled out quickly. She knew she ought to press on, try another town, but the idea of leaving was terrifying in its own way. She had gotten used to this part of the city; the hotel, the laundromat, the internet cafe, the bagel shop. She knew where she was as long as she stayed within these few blocks. Even when she went out to scout leads on her parents, she took a cab and only went in and out of the buildings. She never wandered.

But she hadn't found them. And she needed to move on eventually, right?

She thought about calling Madeleine. The piece of paper with the sweet woman's number was tattered, and the aquamarine had turned dark from the dye of her denims. She could still make out the digits, but even if she garnered the courage to dial the woman, what would she say? She couldn't lie about seeing her parents, and Madeleine hadn't known that they were missing... No, it just wouldn't do. As comforting as it would feel to see her one-time friend, it couldn't happen.

Standing up to stretch, she searched the room for her map. Locating it, she plotted out her next move. Newcastle was the closest metropolitan area to Sydney, although she knew it wasn't nearly as large of a city. Still, it was on the ocean, and she thought perhaps her parents would appreciate something smaller. She circled the name on the map. "Newcastle it is."

Once again she considered how easy it would be to Apparate someone to the north of Sydney; she had been in that neighborhood just days before, following a possible trail. It wouldn't get her far, but it would save her an expensive taxi ride, or another confusing bout with public transportation. She decided against it, however. After all, she had gotten this far without magic, hadn't she? She could make it.

She didn't like to think about it, of course, but she knew that if anyone were to cast a Prior Incantato spell upon her wand, they'd see the last spell she had cast. And they'd find out that the last thing that had left her wand was the Killing Curse. The curse that had helped bring down the Dark Lord. For the hundredth time she considered casting a simple spell to clear the previous one. Just in case. It wasn't as if Voldemort's infamy was well known in Australia; if someone knew she had cast the Killing Curse without knowing who (or what) Voldemort was, they may think her to be some sort of criminal. Which she was, sort of. Still, she couldn't bring herself to use magic. Because in truth, she no longer trusted herself.

There was no one else to blame for the choices she had made. Even discounting what had happened that fateful night, there were all the months leading up to it. She had delved too deeply into the Dark Arts, she saw that now. She had asked too many questions, let her curiosity get the best of her. And she had learned things, terrible things. Things she couldn't erase from her mind no matter how hard she tried. Things only an Obliviate could erase. But she couldn't... she'd live with her guilt, even if it destroyed her. She wouldn't take the easy way out.

And so she packed her things in her trusty old trunk (thanking Harry silently for magically lightening her load; the charm had stuck, which was impressive) and set out once more, alone.

* * *

The days dragged on at 12 Grimmauld Place. The once Noble House of Black was quiet despite the four teenagers living within its walls. The Weasel had left Astoria alone as he promised, not that there had really been a chance to show his supposedly changed spirit. He barely left his room, and Astoria was still scarce as well. Potter moved about the house like an apparition; rarely did he speak, and when he did, his words were few.

Draco had heard him the day before, in fact, although his presence had gone unnoticed. He was making his way down to the kitchen when he heard voices. He considered leaving his position at the top of the stairs, but his Slytherin instincts kept him rooted to the spot. He had learned a wealth of information from eavesdropping in the past, and anyway, it was a hard habit to break. And so he had slowed down his breathing and listened carefully.

It was Potter, yes, but a woman as well. No, not a woman, not quite. It was the Weaslette. He knew because he heard Potter say her name. He listened closely to make out other words. He caught the tone of the discussion, but if they would just enunciate... Cautiously he cast a wordless silencing spell and crept down three steps. He wouldn't allow himself any more than that, but it was enough to make out actual words.

"If you really think it's a good idea, Harry... I support you no matter what, you know that, but I just don't get it. I mean, you have two Slytherins in your own home! And now you're sticking up for them? For HIM?"

"Gin, I would have thought you were over house prejudices. Luna's a Ravenclaw, Cedric was a Hufflepuff, and Snape, the one who risked everything for me, for my mum, was a Slytherin. Not to mention Pettigrew was a Gryffindor, like us... and anyway, we're a long way from Hogwarts now. Or at least it feels that way."

A sigh. "Okay, but be careful, all right? I still don't trust them. Especially him." Draco had snarled at the comment, thankful for the silencing charm. He wasn't all that fond of the Weaslette either.

Silence. Draco strained his ears to pick up on any sounds, but both were quiet. And then.

"How's Ron handling everything?"

A scoff. "About as well as you'd think."

"Well she did just leave. There were no warnings, no goodbyes. She didn't say anything, not even to me!"

"She had her reasons. It's not my place to say what they were, but believe me, Gin, she was dealing with her own demons. But Ron understands, I think, even if it's hard. He knows what happened. I think he expected her to run, to be honest."

"Well that may be, but I'm still allowed to be angry at her. She said goodbye to you, though, didn't she?"

Silence once more.

"You miss her, don't you Harry?"

"Yes."

A sniffle. "You love her, don't you?"

"Yes."

The Weaslette's words were soft, barely registering. "I thought so. I can't say that I didn't see it... and it's not like we promised each other anything. Still, Hermione and Ron... well they're together, or at least they were. I don't like the idea of her coming between you and my brother. And you know how I feel..."

A quiet laugh. "Gin, it's not like that, not at all. I love her. Of course I love her, she's Hermione! She's just so easy to love. But not like that, come on. You have to know that by now."

"Well, you do treat her differently, you have to admit that. You're always giving her special attention, and calling her pet names, and hugging her. There's a connection between you two."

"Yeah, there is, but not the way you're thinking. She's my best friend, Gin. Not in the same way as Ron; I mean, it has to be a little different, doesn't it? Ron's my mate, but Hermione... she's the closest thing I have to a sister. But it's more than that. She's Muggle-born, so we just understand each other in ways that you and I can't. We grew up in the same world. And then there's the other thing. I haven't told anyone this Gin, but with Hermione in my life, I sort of feel like I have a bit of my mum still with me. They were both Muggle-born, both brilliant, both independent. They both stood up for those who couldn't stand for themselves, you know? From everything I have heard about my mum from Sirius and Remus, I just know that they'd get along. And so I feel closer to her. And I want to protect her, and watch out for her, and let her know that I care about her. Because she's my family. But you have to know how I feel about you." Shaky breathing, and an intake of air. "I love you, Ginny. I love you, and when we're older, I'm going to marry you and have kids with you and grow old with you, if you'll have me. For always."

Sniffles, and then the soft smacking of lips.

That as all Draco needed to turn on his heel and run back to the safety of his room.

* * *

"Ugh! Bloody Gryffindors." Draco shook his head, remembering the previous day's clandestine conversation. He needed another shower. If he never had to hear Potter and the Weaslette snogging again, it would be too soon.

As the water trickled through his hair and ran rivers down his chest, he considered Potter's words about Granger. Draco had wondered as well, on occasion, if there was more than just friendship there. The way the two Gryffindor's so obviously relied on one another had caught his attention, but it was really the little things that spoke volumes. The way the one just seemed to know what the other was thinking, or what the other needed. Hell, even in Potions, which Potter was pants at (save for sixth year when he became suddenly, startlingly brilliant, but Draco didn't want to think of that), he seemed to know intuitively when Hermione needed a helping hand. And then again, he seemed to understand when to leave the witch alone. And the hugging, well, he'd noticed it too. He was strangely captivated with this new information that Potter saw the bushy-haired witch as more than a friend, but not in a romantic way. She reminded him of what his mother may have been like when she was his age. It was a strange thought. Yes, Draco thought of Astoria as a sister, but it wasn't because he had mummy issues. Still, it was probably a comfort to Potter. And Draco found himself wondering exactly what had happened to Granger that caused her to leave. Was it the ordeal with Nott? She had been tortured by him, and then tortured him in kind, at least according to Potter. He had a feeling there was more to the story, though, and made a mental note to get the entirety of the tale from Potter eventually.

Where was she now? He remembered Potter had said something about her family. Was she still in England? He wondered how she could walk away from her friends like that; they'd always been the Obnoxious Trio. What on earth could have broken that group of gits up?

Draco slowly washed and waited until the water ran cool. He tried to clear the questions about Granger out of his mind – it didn't matter, really, where she was or what she was doing. She was just Granger; just a Muggle-born. He didn't care.

A loud rapping on the door broke though his contemplation. "Oi! Malfoy! Get your bloody prat arse out of there! It's been days!" The rapping continued, getting increasingly louder and faster.

The blonde-haired boy scowled at his reflection in the mirror and gathered his things before opening the door. Red hair and a red face greeted him. "Oh, hi there, Weasel. Didn't hear you, dreadfully sorry." He flashed what he hoped looked like an honest grin. Judging from the Weasel's exasperated huff, apparently he had succeeded in his attempt at annoying the redhead. Remembering the Weasel had lost not only a brother but his girl in the past year, he resisted saying more, and pressed past the boy to enter the small bedroom which had become his escape in the most Noble House of Black.


	30. Hearing

"But... I don't understand. That's it? How can that be? It's not fair... it's not right!" Draco Malfoy's dissenting voice was clear and booming in the circular room, filling the quiet that came after his punishment was pronounced. Not a word was spoken as the young man was led out of the courtroom and into the hallway. The witches and wizards that made up the Wizengamot were silent as they filed out of their rows and into their chambers.

It was over.

* * *

Just two days before, Potter had knocked on the door of his bedroom. It was strange to think of this small room as his; it was so different from the one he had grown up in. His childhood quarters had been vast and airy, nothing like this. And yet... it wasn't so bad. He had almost grown attached to the duvet Potter had given him the night he moved out of Astoria's room. It was a soft grey-blue, and impossibly warm. Even after a good wash, it retained a smell that was peculiar, but not at all unpleasant. Lavender, perhaps? It was floral, but there was a slight bite to it that intrigued him.

The dresser at the foot of the bed was more than big enough to fit his meager wardrobe, which was made up of the clothes he had accepted from Potter as well as the less unfortunate clothes Mrs. Weasley had brought over almost a week before. He had accepted them with as much gratitude as he could muster; he found that he rather liked Mrs. Weasley, even if he didn't hold the same appreciation for her spawn or their rather garish taste in garments.

The knock at his door had startled him; Astoria simply walked in his room when she needed him, and everyone else seemed more than happy to leave him alone. At the time he had been in the middle of a particular book he had found in the living room of Grimmauld Place. It was unlike any book he had read before, full of intrigue and suspense, but no magic. More than once he had considered the possibility that it may indeed be a Muggle book, but he put the thought out of his mind. It was much too interesting and well-written. Must be magical. He had carefully marked his place and, with a wary voice, allowed the visitor entry.

Potter had simply wanted to let him know that his trial had been set up, and it was less than 48 hours away. He had been waiting for this, of course, but it still left him cold. He wanted it over with, and yet the idea of facing all of those people... it was terrifying. They would know exactly what he had done. He had already made his mind up; he would plead guilty, of course, and volunteer to take Veritaserum. If he could give any information that would facilitate the capture of any other Death Eaters, all the better. He had no allegiance to them, no loyalty. After the things he saw them do... they all deserved Azkaban, or worse. He'd take as many of Voldemort's followers with him as he could. It was the least he could do. In this, he hoped, he'd make his mum proud.

The next day and a half passed at a crawl. Astoria didn't leave his side for more than a few minutes at a time. He allowed himself to be comforted by her, even if it made him feel weak. He cherished the way she'd squeeze his hand, just to let him know that she was there. He tried to be fully present when she hugged him, knowing that human contact would be non-existant in Azkaban. At least in this way. And he didn't hide the few sparse tears when they came. Story understood, and she didn't judge him. That acceptance, the kindness of his friend... it was all that he needed.

And then the time had come. He no longer owned anything that could be considered appropriate for court, but Potter had loaned him a pair of slacks and a gray button-up shirt. He had borrowed a simple black robe from Charlie Weasley, who he didn't know, but Molly had insisted they were a similar size. He had said goodbye to Astoria, who he'd have to leave now; it was a closed trial, and he would sit alone on the stand, without any friendly face in the crowd to buoy him on. She had cried, of course, fat, mournful tears. She had promised to write, although he wasn't sure if that would make his stay in the wizarding jail better or worse. His shoulder was wet with her tears when they finally parted.

Potter had directed him to the fireplace on the second floor, and he realized that they were to floo to the Ministry. It shouldn't have surprised him, but it did. He half expected Kingsley Shacklebolt himself to escort him to the Ministry with his hands bound. The Ministry trusted Potter to deliver the Death Eater? Well, if that's how they wanted it...

Within nanoseconds, they were at the Ministry of Magic. Draco hesitantly stepped out of the green fireplace and met up again with Potter. Wordlessly they walked the almost-empty corridor to a lift. Potter looked perfectly at ease as they made their way through the Goliath of a building. Draco had only been to the Ministry once before, and that was when his last name actually meant something in the wizarding world. He felt his stomach pull as the lift plunged deep into the bowels of the building. Every passing moment was torture; more than anything he wished he could remain calm and in control, but it felt as if a dozen pixies had taken up residence in his stomach. Potter obviously noticed his discomfort, because the look on his face seemed to actually be one of concern. The Chosen One coughed and looked away, obviously unsure of what to say.

"Err, Malfoy... I just thought you'd want to know that I'll be at the trial with you. I know you won't know a lot of people there, especially since half the Wizengamot is new... but you'll know me. You probably don't see that as a good thing, but I've been on that stand before, so I have an idea as to what to expect. And anyway, I figured it couldn't hurt."

So this must have been what the Weaslette meant about sticking up for him. Draco was amazed. It might not seem like a lot, just showing up at a hearing, but he knew it was more than that. It was a closed trial, yet Potter had obviously pushed to be allowed to attend, and to offer Draco Malfoy support. It was unheard of. Maybe he wasn't as much of a prat as he had always seemed...

And then they were in front of a set of large, ornately carved black doors. The words "Vincit Omnia Veritas" were engraved in gold script above the entrance. "Truth conquers all," Potter whispered, although he needn't have bothered; Draco was familiar enough with Latin to understand. The doors slowly swung open as they approached, and there, sitting high above the ground and taking up half of the round room, was the Wizengamot.

No one spoke as the two young wizards filed into the room. Potter grabbed one of the empty seats in the gallery (being a closed court, there were many to choose from), and Draco was directed to sit at an empty chair. Judging from the number of empty seats, the Wizengamot had lost more than a few members in the war. That didn't bode well for Draco's future, not that it wasn't secure already. Azkaban had him already, no matter what he did now.

After he was seated, an elderly wizard walked into the room, and everyone stood. Draco stood awkwardly as well, unsure of what to do. Slowly the man made his way to the bench and sat. The Slytherin attempted to follow the cues from those around him and began to sit when everyone else sat, but the young witch seated to his left indicated the he should remain standing. The wizard, whom Draco assumed to be the Chief Warlock, spoke, his voice low and gravelly.

"Good morning. My name is Elias Mongrund, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and presiding judge for today's trial under the authority of acting Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt. We gather here today to determine whether the defendant, Draco Malfoy, is guilty of war crimes. Mr. Malfoy will be represented by Cecily Cardumer." The witch to Draco's left stood. The Slytherin sneaked a glance at her; she looked to be quite young indeed, mid thirties at the most. He wondered whether or not it boded well for him that he'd never met her.

Elias Mongrund continued. "The prosecution will be represented by Desmond Bromside." A man who looked to be in his early sixties stood as well. Draco thought he looked slightly familiar, although he couldn't place him. Perhaps he had seen an article on the man in the Prophet?

"Ms. Cardumer, Mr. Bromside, you may take your seats. Mr. Malfoy, if you could please take your spot at the defendant's seat." The old wizard pointed to a tall-backed wooden chair in the middle of the room. Draco tried to stifle a gulp as he noticed chains attached to the arms of the chair. He sat gingerly, waiting for the restraints to wind their way around his wrists. They never moved.

Judge Mongrund turned all of his attention on Draco. "Mr. Malfoy, you stand accused of being a Death Eater who committed war crimes in Lord Voldemort's name. How do you plead?"

Draco swallowed nervously. It was now or never. "Guilty, Your Honor." His voice was loud and clear throughout the courtroom, and he was surprised to hear more than a few gasps coming from the Wizengamot.

Judge Mongrund nodded slowly. "Very well, Mr. Malfoy." He then turned his attention to the members of the Wizengamot, as well as the prosecution, defense, and Harry Potter. "Mr. Malfoy has pleaded guilty to the charge of war crimes. As we all know, many things have changed in our world over the past few years. This court, for instance," he gestured at the witches and wizards around the room, "looks very different than it did the last time we all met. For many of you, this is the first trial you are witnessing. As such, I'd like you to know that I will be conducting today's trial in a way that's not quite traditional, shall we say? For instance, this is a closed courtroom, yet all of you must have noticed by now that Harry Potter is here today with us. I'd also like to point out that Mr. Malfoy here requested that he be the first to stand before this newly appointment Wizengamot. What we see and do today will not reflect future trials. Does everyone understand?"

Many nodded their agreement, but Draco did not understand, not at all. He'd never attended a trial, so he didn't know how they normally ran. Still, he had read enough in the Daily Prophet to have some sort of idea as far as what to expect. Now, all of those assumptions went straight out the window. Would he be granted a fair trial? Or would they haul him off to Azkaban right away? He turned in his seat to glance at Potter; it seemed crazy, but he did feel comforted by the Gryffindor's presence. Surely they wouldn't torture him in front of the Golden Boy of Wizendom.

Judge Mongrund turned his attention back to Draco. "Mr. Malfoy... do you mind if I call you Draco?" Draco shook his head, not sure if he should speak. "Draco, would you please stand, and, in your own words, describe your involvement with Lord Voldemort?"

Draco shakily got to his feet. "Y-yes, sir. Where should I start, sir?"

The judge smiled slightly. "At the beginning, Draco, wherever you believe that to be."

Draco nodded. "I suppose... well, I guess my involvement with Lord Vol.. the Dark Lord... began with my father, sir. As I'm sure you all know, he was a Death Eater in the first Wizarding War and served time in Azkaban a few years back. When the Dark Lord returned, my father rejoined his forces. My father was arrested after he and other Death Eaters infiltrated the Department of Mysteries on the Dark Lord's command. Father was then imprisoned in Azkaban, and the Dark Lord required that I take my father's place in his ranks." He swallowed, wishing he had a glass of water. "It was in July of 1996 that I willingly took the Dark Mark and officially became a Death Eater."

The judge raised his hand to stop Draco and spoke. "And how old were you at the time, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco's answer was quieter this time. "I had just turned sixteen, sir."

Mongrund nodded slowly. "Continue, please."

Draco fidgeted. This part was hard. "My first task as a Death Eater was to kill my headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. I was told that if I could not accomplish my task, my life, as well as my parents', would be forfeit. I tried to kill the headmaster several times without avail, and during the course of my attempts, people were injured, and almost killed. I managed to fix a pair of Vanishing Cabinets, one of which was located in Hogwarts. I let Death Eaters into the castle." He looked down at his hands, ashamed to meet anyone's eyes. "I tried to kill Professor Dumbledore," he whispered, "but I was too weak. I couldn't do it. Professor Snape, who I have since been told was a spy for the Order of the Phoenix, killed him instead."

He forced himself to look at the judge, but he couldn't read his expression. "I was punished for my failure. The Dark Lord tortured me and my parents. We were treated like prisoners in our own home. I went back to Hogwarts for my seventh year, but I didn't stay long. The Dark Lord requested that I return to Malfoy Manor to continue with my training. During the Battle of Hogwarts I attempted to capture Harry Potter and turn him over to the Dark Lord. He actually saved me and my friend from Fiendfyre. He saved our lives. My family and I attempted to defect during the Battle, but when the Dark Lord survived, my father decided that we'd be safer if we returned to the Dark Lord's service. We were once again tortured for our disloyalty. My family's standing was never the same after I had failed to kill the Headmaster, and my mother bore the brunt of the Dark Lord's wrath. My father and I had taken the Mark, you see, but my mother refused it. In the months after the Battle of Hogwarts, I tortured many people, magical and Muggle alike. I killed a former classmate of mine, Penelope Clearwater. She was a Muggleborn. I no longer wanted to follow the Dark Lord, but I didn't feel like I had a choice. Then, he killed my mum..." He stopped speaking and dropped his head, unwilling to show his tears in so public a place. "It was then that I decided to escape. I was afraid to leave, though. Soon afterward, the Dark Lord gave me a mission I was unwilling to complete, so I ran." He shrugged awkwardly, not knowing if he should continue."

"And what mission was that?" The judge looked at him critically.

"I was to kidnap a friend of Harry Potter's, Hermione Granger. The Dark Lord believed that she had knowledge that made her dangerous. He wanted me to... to torture her, and to do things to her. He wanted me to break her, to get information. He said he had plans for her..." His voice trailed off as he considered once more that his leaving hadn't saved Granger. She'd still been kidnapped and tortured, just as he had suspected. "I couldn't do it."

Judge Mongrund's face was unreadable as he sat in silence for what felt like an unbearably long time. When he spoke, he said little. "Thank you for your testimony, Draco."

Desmond Bromside stood. "Permission to question the defendant, Your Honor?" It was granted.

The wizard stood, walking the perimeter of the courtroom. "Mr. Malfoy, would you say that you were forced to take the Dark Mark?"

Draco shook his head. "No, sir."

"Uh huh. In that case, can you tell us how you felt about taking upon your person the Mark of the darkest wizard in known history?"

Draco knew he was digging his own grave, but he had promised himself, and his mum, that he'd tell the truth. "I was eager to take the Mark, sir. I believed I was chosen."

"And how would you describe your feelings towards Muggles, Muggleborns, and those who associated with them?"

He shrugged. "I hated them, sir. I thought they were trash, and that they didn't deserve to breathe the same air as pureblood wizards and witches."

Bromside nodded. "I see. And Mr. Malfoy, when exactly did you defect from the Death Eaters?"

"It was some time in early March, sir. I'm not sure exactly sure of the date."

"Mr. Malfoy, had you not been assigned to capture Ms. Granger, do you believe that you would have remained a supporter of Voldemort?"

Cecily Cardumer stood then. "Objection, Your Honor, Mr. Bromside is asking the defendant to speculate."

Bromside stood his ground. "Your Honor, I am simply trying to ascertain whether or not the defendant would have fought in the Battle at Nott Manor if he had not been given a task that he found repugnant."

The judge considered for a moment. "Overruled."

"Thank you." Mr. Bromside addressed Draco again. "Mr. Malfoy, do you believe you would have fought in the Battle at Nott Manor if you had not been given the task to abduct Ms. Granger?"

Draco took a moment to consider the question. "I... I don't know. After the Dark Lord killed my mum, I began to plot my escape. When I was given my task, that gave me the extra push I needed to leave once and for all. If I hadn't been asked to kidnap Ms. Granger, I don't know what I would have done. I can tell you that if I had fought in the battle, I wouldn't have killed anyone. I can say that, at least, with complete certainty. Penelope Clearwater is the only death on my conscience. And it's enough to haunt me for the rest of my life. Maybe longer."

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. No further questions, Your Honor."

Judge Mongrund turned to Ms. Cardumer. "Do you have any questions for the defendant?"

The young woman stood and faced Draco. "Just one, Your Honor. Mr. Malfoy, why was it that you felt unable to perform the duty given to you by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

The question was almost too easy and Draco answered with confidence. "Because it was wrong! And I wasn't unable, I was unwilling. Hermione Granger and I were never friends; in fact, I liked to make her life sort of miserable in school. But Granger, she's brilliant, and she's brave, and she didn't deserve what happened to her. No one does, no matter what their blood status may be. It was wrong, what he asked of me."

"No more questions, Your Honor."

Draco stared at his feet as the woman passed. He knew his time as a free man was slowly winding down; he could feel that cell in Azkaban growing closer and closer. He didn't want to leave without giving everything he could, however. He needed to put as many Death Eaters away as possible. He needed to make his mum proud. So he slowly got to his feet. "Your Honor, I have a request. I would like to submit myself for further questioning, but this time under the influence of Veritaserum. I believe that I have information that may be helpful in future cases."

There was audible whispering from the Wizengamot. "Draco, I must tell you, Veritaserum is rarely used in this court. However, if you are willing to provide us with further information... I suppose it would be foolish to deny your request. What do you hope to gain from this?"

Draco felt his Slytherin side cheer at the question. It would be all too easy to use his intel for gain. It wouldn't be right, though, not really. And anyway, he deserved the full measure of the law. "The only thing I request, Your Honor, is that if I am to be spared the Dementor's kiss, and instead am sent to Azkaban, I ask to be placed in a private cell, if it's at all possible. I plan on sending many guilty people there, you see; I'm sure they'll be looking forward to revenge, sir."

The judge nodded. "Very well, Mr. Malfoy, I shall consider your request."

* * *

It was over an hour later that Draco was able to rest his vocal chords. He found the effects of Veritaserum to be quite peculiar. Not only was he unable to lie (although he supposed that he could have tried to resist the potion's influence using his sufficient skill in Occlumency), but he felt more and more euphoric as he told the truth. Because of this, he found himself giving quite a lot of information, including tidbits totally unrelated to fellow Death Eaters' guilt. For instance, he had described exactly how disgusting he found Fenrir Grayback and his canine stench, as well as Yaxley's penchant for cross-dressing (something he had unfortunately seen during a lesson in covert affairs). When he was done, he was surprised and slightly amused at the length of the court scribe's parchment.

Judge Mongrund shook his head in amazement. "Thank you, Mr. Malfoy, for that very enlightening and lengthy testimony. I do believe we will find the information obtained to be quite helpful in future trials. Now, Ms. Cardumer will take you into an adjoining room while we discuss your case." Draco stood and followed the woman out of the courtroom.

"Mr. Potter, if you wouldn't mind waiting in the hallway." The judge gestured to the doors.

"Actually, Your Honor, I have a request of my own, if you don't mind. I have a memory... well, it's a memory of a memory, I suppose. Hermione Granger witnessed a memory of Theodore Nott's while he was under Legilimency. I then witnessed the same memory while using Legilimency on Hermione. I believe that it will confirm some of that Malfoy has testified to, as well as giving a glimpse into his character. I would also like to share a conversation that I had with Malfoy just a week ago. I believe that it will shed more light on the death of Penelope Clearwater."

"Mr. Potter, you must realize the unorthodoxy of this request."

Harry smiled. "Yes, Your Honor, but I also know that my word will most likely carry more weight in this courtroom than Mr. Malfoy's. So again, I ask you to please allow me to show these memories."

Judge Mongrund looked at his fellow members of the Wizengamot. Some seemed unsure of Harry's request, although most just looked curious. The elder wizard sighed. "Very well, Mr. Potter, very well." He stood and left the room, coming back just a few minutes later with what looked to be a Pensieve, although there were some differences. "If you would approach the bench, Mr. Potter?" Harry obliged, and the wizard placed his wand at Harry's temple and withdrew two silvery looking strands. He dropped the first into the dish and Harry was amazed to see the memory emerge from the magical object. The scene in front of him was almost like a projection of his memory, but life-sized and with stunning clarity. When the short scene ended, the other memory was placed inside, and the Wizengamot watched Draco Malfoy describe Penelope Clearwater's death, as well as his changed opinion of Muggle-borns.

When it was over, Harry moved towards the door. As he opened it, the judge spoke. "Mr. Potter, it appears you may have saved Mr. Malfoy's life once more. That young man owes you many debts of gratitude."

Harry smiled ruefully. "I'm sure he'll love to hear that, Your Honor," he smiled and slipped out the door.

* * *

Two and a half hours later, Draco was again escorted into the courtroom. He took his place at the defendant's seat and held his breath, awaiting the verdict.

Judge Mongrund looked down at him, his face betraying nothing. "Mr. Malfoy, I want to let you know that we have taken a considerable amount of time to deliberate in order to evaluate your case as fairly as possible. After you left the courtroom, Mr. Potter provided us with additional evidence that we deemed to be highly influential. It is this information that solidified our verdict, although I can safely say that many of us were already leaning in this direction."

Draco turned to look at Potter. As much as he tried to stifle the emotion, he couldn't deny the sting of the Chosen One's betrayal. He deserved it, and more, of course, but it hurt nonetheless. Still, it felt poetic, in a way, that Potter would be the one to hammer the final nail in his coffin. Draco wondered what it was that Potter had said that so greatly influenced the Wizengamot. Had he regaled them with tales of Draco's torment of Muggleborns and blood-traitors? Had he described the Weasel's accidental poisoning in detail? Or had he simply pointed out that Draco was a Death Eater and deserved the Dementor's kiss, pure and simple?

"Mr. Malfoy, if you could please stand as I read the verdict." Draco did as told, wishing he had something to hold on to.

"In the case of Draco Malfoy, we find the defendant guilty of being a Death Eater and committing war crimes, including torture."

It was all over. He would rot in Azkaban, growing slowly older as his sanity waned. He just hoped they'd taken pity on him when it came to his cellmates.

"Mr. Malfoy's punishment is as follows: he is ordered to pay 100,000 galleons in reparations to the Ministry of Magic, and he will serve a six month sentence under house arrest during which time he will not be allowed to use any kind of magic. As his family home has been destroyed, he will be released into the custody of Harry Potter as agreed upon by Mr. Potter and myself. If Mr. Malfoy breaks the terms of his house arrest at any time, he will find himself faced with very serious consequences, up to but not limited to imprisonment in Azkaban. Court is adjourned."

Draco fell to his knees, dizzy with confusion and disbelief. His breath came out in ragged gasps as he struggled to comprehend what had just happened.

"But... I don't understand. That's it? How can that be? It's not fair... it's not right!" Draco Malfoy's dissenting voice was clear and booming in the circular room, filling the quiet that came after his punishment was pronounced. Not a word was spoken as the young man was led out of the courtroom and into the hallway. The witches and wizards that made up the Wizengamot were silent as they filed out of their rows and into their chambers.

It was over.


	31. Had

It was two weeks after the trial, and still Draco had a difficult time wrapping his mind around the verdict. He was free. Well, he was under house arrest, but he wasn't in Azkaban, and that was the same thing as being free to him. Yes, handing over his wand to the Minister was difficult, but it wasn't as if he would have been able to take it to Azkaban. And anyway, it was a small price to pay. Too small, in fact. He still felt guilty, still felt that he was being let off too easily. He'd wake in the morning and subconsciously look around for the Aurors he knew would be there to take him away. But they never showed up, and after a week or so, he started to relax, if only slightly.

The Weasel still kept his distance, which was fine by Draco. Astoria had crumpled to the floor the moment she saw Draco at her bedroom door after the trial. The shock was palpable. When she regained her balance, she threw herself on the Slytherin and refused to let go. Over and over she whispered in his ear, "It's you, you're back, it's a miracle."

But it wasn't a miracle. It was Potter. Why he'd stick his neck out like that, Draco didn't know. He was intent on asking the Gryffindor, but every time he got up the courage, Potter would be out of the house, or talking to the Weasel or Weaselette. So he let it go for the time being, promising himself that he'd ask the burning questions. Soon.

And anyway, he was finished with that peculiar book. It had captivated him for several days, but now he found himself restless once more. It wasn't a good sign; he had five and a half months of house arrest left. No magic, no Diagon Alley... he needed more books like the one he had found in the living room of Grimmauld Place. He had perused the library there, of course, but was only able to find practical books on magic. And while he knew he couldn't do magic, he also wondered if reading up on spells would be frowned upon. He didn't want to push his luck by asking, so he decided to stick with story books. There were no such books in the library, however, so he added that question to the list of ones he needed to ask Potter.

* * *

Hermione found no trace of her parents in Newcastle. She'd been on her own for over a month now, and the loneliness was setting in. While she was an admitted introvert, she still needed people, still needed conversation. So she made up excuses to talk to the barista at the coffee shop down the road from her hotel; she was on a first-name basis with the entire front-desk staff where she was staying. Still, it wasn't as if they were friends; they were just people that she spoke to during the day. At night she had a few books and the television. She'd never been that fond of the telly, but it gave her something to do at night when she was bored and dejected.

That morning she had visited the last dental office she could find in the city. It was turning out to be an expensive endeavor, looking for her parents, but of course it was worth it. And anyway, she planned on working off the credit card bill and paying them back. It was because of her that they were in Australia anyway. Still, it was expensive... she had visited no less than 127 dental offices in the last two weeks, which was dizzying, if you thought about it. She had immediately dismissed any office that specialized in pediatrics; her parents saw some children, of course, but she knew that her mom in particular preferred to work on adults. She could also cross off any office with a cutesy name; her parents simply would not have found that amusing. "Teefers" was off the list, as was "Ma and Pop's Tooth Stop." She shuddered, remembering the awful names. Who on earth would name their business something so ridiculous? No, her parents would certainly not be found in such an establishment.

So that was it. Newcastle was a bust. On to the next city.

But which city to choose? She was stuck between going to Melbourne or Brisbane. Both were big cities, both had a decent amount of attractions. So which was it?

In the end, she settled on Melbourne; it was a big metropolitan area known for beaches and museums. There was little else to go on anyway. So that was it. She said goodbye to Newcastle the next morning.

* * *

She has just entered the latest hotel room when she noticed once more that all hotel rooms were basically the same. It was the location that changed. It was evening, about eight o'clock, if she were to guess, and so she decided to postpone her search until the morning. A call to a local Chinese restaurant and food was on the way. When it came, she devoured it, savoring every bite of the Mongolian Beef. When that was done she debated turning on the telly or taking a nice, long bath.

The bath won.

She was soaking in suds and scented oil when she let herself think of them. Her friends, the ones she left. When she got really lonely, she pretended she was on summer break. She'd see them in the fall, like always. A week, maybe two, at the end of August. She'd make her way to the Burrow, which would inevitably be bursting with laughter and explosions and Molly's chiding calls. September 1st they would make their way to King's Cross like so many years before, and they'd sit in the oh so familiar seats, waiting for the trolley, because Ron needed his chocolate frogs. She told herself these things, all the while knowing that it was all a pack of lies, but she sometimes she let herself believe it, if only for a little while.

And she needed it right now, to believe. She imagined them, her and her boys, marveling at how young the first years looked. Ron would tease one of the young students and Hermione would call him out on it, but then she'd laugh when she reminded him, "We were them, once."

Once. A long, long time ago. It felt like lifetimes ago, really. She was simply not that girl anymore, so small and bookish and self-assured, the annoying but still lovable know-it-all. She remembered that girl, but in the way you'd remember a classmate from grammar school. She can't connect the dots from there to here. She remembered the lessons, the feasts and the Quidditch games. She could vividly recall the long years of pining over Ron Weasley, wishing for his attention, his affection. And the danger, always there, under the surface. It was just part and parcel of being friends with Harry Potter. She never regretted that friendship, no matter how dicey things got. She'd face anything for her first true friends.

But then the danger grew and grew, and the line between right and wrong blurred. And suddenly she wasn't as concerned with the rules as she had once been. She stopped believing that everything (everything) could be solved with hard work and diplomacy, and she began to understand those things she previously thought of as barbaric. It was slow, the change. But even so, she could pinpoint exactly when it was that she became someone other than herself. And it wasn't during those long weeks when she was being tortured and kept prisoner, no matter what anyone believed. No, it was long before then.

It started the night that Ron left them in the woods, desperate and hungry, tempers stretched thinner and thinner and then everything broke; it just snapped like a rubber band pulled too tightly. He up and left, and she had cried for weeks, mourning the loss. When he had returned she was slow to forgive him, but when she had... that's when she really knew. She was in love with him, and that was that. The knowledge had been both exhilarating and terrifying. Now she had even more to lose.

And when the Snatchers caught them, she had desperately fired a hex at Harry to cover his identity, but it only worked for so long. Next came torture at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange, and she had faced it as bravely as she could. But it was then, laying on the cold marble floor, twisting in agony as that bitch carved the word into her skin... it was then that she knew. She'd do anything to save their lives, hers and her friends. She'd kill if she had to.

And she had. Many times over. But it was that night in Malfoy Manor that solidified the change in her. She was no longer the bushy-haired young woman she once was.

She didn't not allow her mind to travel this way very often. In fact, it was quite rare that she consciously thought of her friends at all. It was too painful, remembering what she had left behind. So she did her best to ignore the thoughts, stuffed them down deep as she practiced her times tables. She quoted books (Muggle only, though), and poetry. She recited the Periodic Table of Elements. She thought about what she would do when she found her parents, although that's painful too.

But this time the thoughts and feelings and memories just came, and she had let them, for some reason she can't fathom. She found herself inundated with grief and nostalgia, and as much as it hurt, it made her feel real. Like she was a part of something. So she allowed herself to wallow, reminiscing.

She could almost hear the clatter of pans from the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, could almost smell Molly's famous cooking, could almost feel Ron standing next to her, and Harry not far away. Ron and Harry, her best friends. But they had always been more than that, and she knew it. Harry, who was like a brother to her. And Ron... shit. She was crying then, not little, feminine tears, but big fats ones. They rolled down her cheeks and her nose, mingled with snot and saliva as she gasped for air, held down by sorrow. She could literally feel her heart breaking all over again. Usually she was able to stop it before it got this far, but not now. Not when it had been a month of running and denying and repressing. She had nightmares almost every night since she left, nasty ones, full of fire and dirt and blood. She was thankful for her ability to mostly forget the dreams in the light of day; they were nothing like Harry's dreams once were. A few anti-histamines each night helped her find sleep, and a few cups of strong coffee in the morning kept her alert, her mind going going going.

She recalled not only happy, innocent times, but also the events from the past few months, and she felt her composure slip and then vanish completely. The visions came rushing at her once more, like they always did when she wasn't carefully controlling her thoughts. She felt them flow over her like a tidal wave, pushing her down. She felt just how broken she truly was, and for a little while, she really thought that she might die from this. The pain was too much; she could feel it in her chest, like her ribs were breaking and stabbing at her lungs. That could be the only reason to feel like this, short of breath and gasping. She couldn't wrap her head around the fact that something wasn't physically broken; it had to be, to hurt this way. Her body began to shake and she felt cold, although the bath was more than warm enough. Her teeth began to chatter and she clenched her jaw to fight the noise. Next came the now-familiar crushing feeling in her chest, and then the accompanying hyperventilating. In the middle of her breaking and breathing and freezing, she found a glimpse of sanity that told her that this was simply a panic attack; she wasn't going to die, no matter how it felt in the moment.

She didn't know how to stop this, this thing. Her body rebelling against her. She didn't know what to do, didn't have a fucking clue as far as where to begin. If she were back at school she'd find her way to the hospital wing, but she wasn't in school, and she didn't have potions or Madame Pomfrey. So she did the only thing she could concentrate on at this moment; she planned. She pushed away the damning thoughts racing through her mind and she tried to visualize her parents, what they would look like when she found them, how they would react. She planned the conversation she would have with them for what must be the hundredth, maybe thousandth time. She made up a story to tell future employers when she couldn't provide a local high school or university on her C.V. She thought up questions to ask the barista at the nearest coffee stop, questions that would keep her occupied and less lonely. "What should I see while I'm here?" and "Have you seen that new movie with that famous actor?"

She planned it all out, every single step, every word, just to keep herself from thinking of the things that caused her to shiver and shake and lose control. And it actually worked, eventually.

* * *

It was the first day of August when she made up her mind. She needed to send Harry something, even if it was just a card. She had already missed his twentieth birthday, and she hadn't written him yet, like she promised. So that morning she decided to put her 'find the parents' plan on hold and she set out with the intent to visit a particular private postal office she had looked up online. The name had simply said "Owl Post," which seemed a bit too obvious to Hermione, but then again, the name shouldn't have caused any undue Muggle curiosity. She showed up with a letter and a small parcel with the name "Harry Potter" written on it in careful script. Still unsure if this was a true wizarding post (complete with actual owls), she approached the woman at the front desk and showed her the addressee's name. She asked,"What are the chances that this will get to the right person without a full address?" It was a silly question, of course, but she was unsure of what else to do.

The woman looked down at the precisely written name and had raised her eyebrows. "I assure you my dear, we have ways of finding out how to get a hold of a person, especially one with a name as famous as that one."

Hermione felt the relief and then the tension. If this woman in Australia knew of the great Harry Potter, perhaps she had heard of Hermione Granger. She didn't want to be known, so she kept her head low as she paid the woman.

As she exited the establishment and found herself back on the street, she let out a sigh. She wasn't sure if it was relief or sadness, really. The first contact she had had with the magical world in over a month and a half and she was thrown.

She looked down at the directions for the next dental office on her list and shook out her hands, trying to ease the muscles.

She hoped Harry would like his birthday present.

* * *

Draco was sprawled out his bed, devouring another book when he saw the tawny owl sitting outside his window. He sat up slowly, marking the page with a bookmark (Granger would most likely flip if he dog-eared the page. She probably wouldn't like the fact that he had found her stash of novels in the attic and couldn't stop reading them, either. He wasn't sure he liked in, in fact. Those damn Muggles and their addictive storylines). He moved across the room and opened the heat-swollen window to retrieve the parcel tied to the great bird's leg. The air that rushed inside was muggy and he impatiently pushed his wildly shaggy blonde hair out of his eyes. He had four more months of house arrest left until he could get a proper haircut. He decided, yes, fine, he'll let Astoria have at it. He was still a little afraid of letting another Slytherin, no matter who it was, come at him with scissors... but this was getting ridiculous. And anyway, he trusted Story, and he wasn't sure that she could make the mess on top of his head look any worse than it did already.

He decided not to share that sentiment with his best friend, however.

He didn't recognize the bird in front of him, so he was cautious at he approached it. "Of course," he said, rolling his eyes at he saw the name on the card. Another gift for the Chosen One. The front room at Grimmauld had been overflowing with gifts from those who didn't have anything better to do than celebrate the birthday of a young man almost none of them actually knew personally. But it was Harry Potter, and that was enough of a reason to send an obscene amount of gifts. Not that Draco was jealous, of course. Although his birthday had passed by two months earlier without fanfare, save for Astoria, who gave him a particularly hideous friendship bracelet she had attempted to make from leftover yarn she had found in the attic. Story wasn't under house arrest, of course, but it didn't matter. She wasn't planning to leave Grimmauld Place until Draco could. He fought her tooth and nail about it, though. She need to get out, talk to other people, enjoy her freedom. "What about Hogwarts? You can't drop out of school, Story." She just shook her head. She was stubborn, always so stubborn. Still, he pushed her to leave the house, get out, go shopping.

And he never took off her bracelet.


	32. Harbinger

It was at 4:36 in the afternoon on a Tuesday in early September that Hermione Granger found her parents.

Wendell and Monica Wilkins practiced dentistry in a quiet town outside of Melbourne, close to the Peninsula. It wasn't at all the sort of town Hermione would have guessed her parents would settle down in; it was too small, too... quaint.

But then again, Wendell and Monica Wilkins were a middle-aged, childless couple who lived in Australia, so making assumptions as far as their preferences was sort of a ridiculous concept to begin with.

It was one of the dental offices that Hermione had relegated to the bottom of her list. She had considered skipping it all together, along with several other practices in the area. In the end, however, she couldn't shake the feeling that if she were to skip just one office, she might never find her parents.

The bell above the door rang as she stepped inside the waiting room. She took careful inventory of the space, noting the clean lines of the furniture, the casual yet purposeful feel of the aesthetic. The lobby was decorated in seaside shades of dusty blue, bottle green, moss and dove gray. There in the middle of the room sat a pair of tan stuffed chairs, and beside them, on a simple wooden table, she noticed a perfect sea urchin shell set upon a white porcelain plate.

She could feel it; this was her parents' practice, it had to be. While no one thing was actually familiar, their spirit was there. She could feel her mother's touch in every watercolor, every carefully selected frame. And there, on the far wall, that antiqued map was exactly her father's taste. It had to be their's.

She approached the front desk hesitantly, a combined feeling of dread and excitement rumbling in her belly. This was the time, this was the place, and she had no idea what she was going to say when she saw them. All the planned conversations flew out of her head, and there were just two words, over and over in her mind. Mum. Dad. Mum. Dad.

The young woman at the counter greeted her kindly, asking if she could be of service. Hermione stood there for several long seconds, saying nothing.

Mum. Dad. Mum. Dad.

"Miss, are you alright?"

Mum. Dad. Mum. Dad.

Say something.

"Uh, sorry. I'm here on holiday, you see, and my tooth started hurting about a day ago. I just thought..." she trailed off. "Would it be possible to see the dentist?"

The young woman looked down at the appointment book, then looked up again at Hermione and smiled. "You are in luck, my dear. Our last patient of the day canceled this morning. If you can fill out paperwork very quickly, we can squeeze you in."

Hermione nodded adamantly. "Yes, of course, thank you." She took the proffered clipboard and pen. She glanced at the words on the sheet, but they slid together as her eyes unfocused. Once again her mind was completely blank, save for those two words, and she did her best to shake herself out of her reverie. Gripping the pen tightly, she filled in the blank portions, not even considering falsifying her information as she had needed to do at several other offices in order to get information. She checked the box for tooth pain and left the others blank, writing "none" in the insurance section. She signed the form quickly and practically ran back to the desk where the receptionist patiently waited.

"Okay, Miss..." the woman looked down, "Granger." She smiled. "We'll have you back in the exam room in just a moment."

The moment dragged on and on, and Hermione had unconsciously bitten all of her fingernails down to the quick by the time she heard her named called. She looked up into the warm brown eyes of her mother and gasped.

"Are you okay, dear?" Her mother's words were kind yet had a tinge of concern to them, and Hermione understood immediately how her mother saw her now. She was a stranger, a young woman who must look anxious and frightened, her fingers raw, her brow furrowed. Anxiety wasn't an unknown state in a dental office, though. Monica Wilkins couldn't suspect anything.

Hermione reached for her bag and stood up shakily, following her mother into the exam room.

"It's very nice to meet you, Hermione, my name is Dr. Monica Wilkins." The older woman reached out her hand and Hermione took it, not knowing what else to do. "What brings you here today?"

The Gryffindor swallowed, not knowing how far she should let this go before she did her best to reverse the memory spell cast upon her mother almost two and a half years ago. Unsure of what to do, she stalled.

"Well, erm... I started experiencing pain in my upper right second molar about a day ago." She paused. "It doesn't hurt all the time, just sometimes. I just thought maybe you could take a look at it."

Dr. Wilkins smiled. "Of course, dear. If you don't mind me saying so, you seem a bit nervous. If you are interested, we do have nitrous oxide available. It might help you to relax a bit."

Hermione shook her head quickly, knowing that she needed all of her mental faculties at the moment. "No, thank you." She racked her brain for an excuse, a question, anything to keep her mother's hands out of her mouth. "Do you mind telling me a bit about yourself, Dr. Wilkins? You don't exactly sound Australian. How long have you been practicing here?" There, that was something. Plus, it would give her information that she really desired.

Dr. Wilkins sat back in her chair and smiled. "No, not Australian. My husband and I lived just outside of London for most of our lives, but we moved here about two years ago. We wanted a slower-paced sort of life, and between the museums and theatres in Melbourne, not to mention the amazing beaches, this seemed like a wonderful place to continue our practice until it comes time to retire."

Hermione plastered what she hoped looked like a real smile on her face and nodded. "So you like it here, then? I mean, I'm just here on holiday, but it seems like a nice place."

Monica nodded, "Yes, we like it quite a lot. We miss England, though," she frowned, blinking rapidly, "but we can't go back." Her frown deepened. "I mean, we could go back of course, but it just doesn't feel right. But I do miss it..." Her voice trailed off and she sighed.

The guilt boiling in her gut was enough to make Hermione dizzy. Of course they couldn't go back, no matter how much they wanted to; she had told them to move to Australia, end of story. Of course they missed their friends, their country, their home. They may not remember her, but they remembered England. They remembered favorite coffee shops, favorite dry cleaners. The small things, things she hadn't considered. Hermione held back the tears threatening to track down her cheeks at the thought. She knew it was the right thing to do, sending them here. But still.

Hermione shifted in her seat, unsure of which direction she should take. Should she continue to ask questions? Or just get on with it?

Her mother moved closer, then, her hands gloved, a dental tool in hand. And then it was time. Hermione reached for the wand stashed in her hooded sweatshirt and produced it, swishing it as she spoke the incantation.

She wasn't sure if it worked, at first. She was mostly sure she had done it correctly, but it had been a while since she had performed any magic at all, not to mention a complicated charm like this. Her mother just sat there, her face blank. Then, slowly, recognition crossed her features; first her eyes, then her forehead, then her mouth. "Hermione...?" It was a question, not a statement. A question that said, in one word, 'What happened? Where am I? What have you done?'

"Yeah, Mum, it's me." She was unsure of what to say next, what words her mother needed to hear at this critical time. But it didn't matter, because the next thing she knew her mother was standing up and walking out the door.

Hermione followed Helen Granger out of the exam room, down the hallway, and out the front door. She watched as her mother walked down the stone path leading from her dental practice and dropped to her knees in the soft grass next to the patient parking spots. She sank down next to her mother and rubbed her back slowly, doing whatever she could to calm her mother, to reassure her.

It was a long time before Helen looked at her daughter. Her mind was not her own, not yet. She was Helen Granger, but also Monica Wilkins. She remembered moving to Australia, setting up her practice, picking out paint colours for the office and for their small cottage home less than a mile away. She remembered the girl sitting next to her, her daughter, Hermione. She remembered all of it, all at once, and couldn't separate the two selves. She was Helen Monica Granger Wilkins, she had a daughter yet was childless. And there was a stranger next to her, a woman that looked so very different from the girl in her memory. Gone was the bushy hair, the serious yet soft look in her eyes. In its place was a woman who looked weathered and worn, and much too old to be her daughter.

She cleared her throat and looked at this woman, this new Hermione. "What happened?"

There were tears in the stranger's eyes. "Oh Mum. I had to... I didn't know what else to do. You were in danger, we all were. I needed you to be safe, you and Dad, and so I... I placed a spell on you, one that would keep you safe."

Helen felt anger well up in her then; she had always been accepting of her daughter's gifts, but Hermione had never used magic on her parents. She had only been recently allowed to use magic outside of school. What had she been thinking, changing their lives like that? Changing everything?

"How long, Hermione?"

The Gryffindor didn't need any more words to know what her mother was asking. She swallowed, hard. "Just over two years."

Helen gasped, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. Two years. Two years since she'd been herself, two years that her little girl had been heaven knows where, doing heaven knows what. She felt the confirmation somewhere deep in her mind. Yes, Monica and Wendell had moved to Australia in 1997. And when she woke up this morning and located the local newspaper for her daily crossword, it had been September 7th, 1999.

Two years.

She didn't trust herself to speak, didn't trust herself to look at her daughter. She didn't know what she would do if she saw those amber brown eyes staring back at her. She might faint, or scream, or cry. Or hold her daughter. Or forgive her.

She didn't feel like doing any of the above at the moment.

She slowly moved to her feet, walking to the back lot towards Monica's car. Without looking back, she spoke to Hermione. "Let's go."

She heard the hurried footsteps behind her as she opened the driver's side door. When both women were inside the car, she heard Hermione whisper quietly, "Where are we going, Mum?"

Mum. She was a mother. She was Helen Granger, mother of Hermione Jean Granger. She had a child. She remembered how sad Monica would get sometimes, how lonely she felt without a son or daughter. Monica and Wendell had tried for years, but to no avail. She had become someone so entirely different that she had forgotten her own flesh and blood.

She sniffed several times and blinked in an effort to hold back tears. "We're going to go home... or to the Wilkin's home..." she paused, unsure of how to explain the simplest things, what was her's, what was Monica's. "We're going to find your father, and you will make him him again, and then we're all going to have a nice long chat."

Hermione nodded, knowing her mother wouldn't see it, wouldn't even look in her direction. "Yes ma'am."

* * *

Hermione hurried to keep up with her parents' longer strides as they made their way further into the airport terminal. It had been two days since she had found her parents and removed the charm that made them Monica and Wendell. Wendell (now Patrick once more) had taken the blow better than Helen. She had suspected that. After the initial talk, there was little said between the elder Grangers and their daughter. Hermione had refused to give specifics as to what exactly had happened to her in the last two years, offering only vague statements. "It was dangerous," "There was a war," and "I had to help my friends." Once she had come close to a real sort of truth. It was after hours of being asked questions that she couldn't (wouldn't) answer. Her father had crouched down in front of where she sat in the Wilkin's front room and had met her eyes. "Hermione, please, just give us something. What was so dangerous that you felt like you had to erase yourself from our lives? What on earth would this dark wizard want with your mum and me? We're Muggles."

She had drawn a deep breath, drawing the courage to give them something, anything, to explain away the pain. "He was looking for you, him and his people. They thought you might have information about me, or about Harry. Over the years I told you things, things about our world, about Harry's role in it, and mine as his friend. And they thought they needed me, needed information that I had. I think he wanted to use you both as leverage. But they couldn't find you." Her eyes took on a familiar stubbornness then as her chin jutted out in defiance. "They couldn't find you because I hid you so well. I couldn't have you remember me. They wouldn't be looking for the Wilkins, and even if they found you, they wouldn't be able to prove it was you. You'd be useless to them."

They had barely spoken at all since then. Her mother alternated between crying and bristling, contagious anger. Even when Hermione wasn't looking at her, she could feel the rage emanating from her mother in waves. Her mother, who had given Hermione her looks as well as her temper. Patrick Granger was more subdued, more relaxed. Still, he was temporarily mute when it came to his daughter.

So she followed them silently, now, as they made their way towards the gate that would take them onto an airplane and out of the country. They'd go back home, to their real home, outside of London. Patrick had called the renters and explained (without any real reasons) that they would be needing their property back now. He had offered to refund the last two month's rent if they could be out in a day. The occupants weren't happy, but they had agreed.

Hermione wondered what it would feel like to be back in her childhood home. She had nowhere else to go, of course; Grimmauld Place wasn't even a consideration. She owed her parents thousands of dollars; it was a debt that she would work off as soon as possible. And then what? Get her own place? Live in her old bedroom? She didn't know.

She concentrated on her breathing as she walked down the jet bridge to the plane, thinking of the conversation she had had, months ago, with Madeleine on a flight to an unknown place.

"Your mum and dad, they love you... I'm not saying it's going to be easy, but your parents are still your parents; they will welcome you home with open arms, mark my words. It's their job to love and care for you, and it's your job to show them that they can trust you not to up and leave again, okay? When you see them, don't give them excuses; just tell them that you're back, and that you love them, and that you want to be a family again. The rest will come, child."

She hoped the kind woman was right. It didn't seem like her relationship with her parents would ever be what it was once.

She was silent when her mother sat down next to her. Hermione reached down below the seat in front of her for her backpack and produced her (now-worn) copy of "A Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy." She had read it through many times since that first flight; she found the familiar words were comforting, especially during take off.

As the engines roared to life she worked on relaxing her breaths, but to no avail. She gripped the arms of her chair with white knuckles, unaware of the anxious humming she had begun to make in the back of her throat.

A hand was placed over hers, and she looked over to the aisle, where her father sat. His eyes were warm and kind. He nodded to the forgotten book in her lap. "'Don't Panic,' remember?"

She tried her best to smile and responded, "'So long, and thanks for all the fish.'" The sound of her father's laughter did much to relax her nerves, and she watched in awe as her mother's delicate fingers stretched out to grasp her other hand.

Helen's voice was quiet as she squeezed Hermione's hand in hers. "You're safe, Bookworm. We've got you."

Tears wove down Hermione's face once more, but they landed at her lips, pulled wide in a thankful smile.


	33. History, Hogwarts, and Highlights

"Mum. Mum, come on. I'm going to be late, Mum, please." Hermione twisted and pulled away from her mother's embrace as she strode to the door. She looked backwards into the kitchen and saw the fear and anxiety splashed across her mother's face. She flashed a grin. "Love you."

Helen Granger watched her daughter get into the aging compact car and drive away.

"She'll be fine, Helen." Patrick's words whispered in her ear as his hands wrapped themselves around her waist. "She's a big girl."

Helen bit her lip to keep the reply from escaping. 'No, she's my little girl, my Bookworm, and she's been through too much this year. This is too fast. She needs me.'

Her husband's breath was warm on her neck as he kissed his way towards her jawline. "She's almost twenty-one years old, love. I think she can handle a first day of school on her own."

She shook her head but didn't answer. He didn't understand. Men just couldn't. But she knew. A daughter always needs her mother, no matter the age.

Patrick repeated himself. "She'll be fine."

A shuddered breath. "I know. I know."

* * *

Hermione walked towards her first class with purpose. She knew exactly where on campus to find each stop on her schedule. All of her classrooms, the library, the restaurants, the computer labs. She knew it all, because she had found a map online and carefully gone over the layout over and over and over again. This meticulous planning helped with her anxiety, of course, but it was also second nature to the girl. She refused to be lost on her first day of university.

It had been a long road here, a long year. It had taken a good six months for her relationship with her parents to feel the way it used to feel. Of course, it was different in some ways, but that was natural. She was older now, and she related to her parents on a different level. The secrecy still strained their bond; she could feel it sometimes, creaking on the edges of their lives, threatening to collapse them in onto themselves like a deck of cards. She had never told them the whole story, of course; there was no way she could. They were her parents, they would love her no matter, they said. They didn't know, though. They didn't know the darkness that lay within her, the bitter anger, the cruelty.

They would never know. She'd see to that.

She had given them bits and pieces of things that were close to the truth. Voldemort was a dark wizard, he hated Muggleborns, he was trying to overthrow the wizarding world. She and her friends had fought back, and there were casualties on both sides. It was so basic, the information, so brief. Bad man try to hurt good people. Good people stop bad man. Everything perfect now.

But it didn't explain why she left, and she knew it. She gave them excuses. "I wanted to be back with my family," or "I couldn't live in both worlds." They pressed for more, so she gave them more. Not much, but more. "After seeing the things that I saw..." and "I did some things that I am not proud of."

Once she had considered telling them more. She couldn't tell them about the bloodstones, or Nott, or a very dead Gregory Goyle. She pushed back the sleeves of her shirt to show them the now very faint lines on her arm. The word was almost invisible, but she could see. She knew what to look for, knew exactly where Bellatrix had carved it on her arm.

"It left me with scars," she had said, tracing over the M again and again. "Some you can see, some you can't." Her mother had grabbed her arm and gasped. "M-m-mudblood?"

She had nodded, then. "You remember they used to call me that?"

Helen's eyes were fierce but watery. "Who did this to you, Bookworm? Who was it?"

She had wanted to shout the answer. 'It was Bellatrix Lestrange, and she's dead now. She'd dead, and she deserved it, and I'm not sorry. We all wanted to be the one to take her down, all of us. Molly just got to her first. That bitch killed Sirius, and Tonks, and Dobby, and took Neville's parents away from him. And now she's dead, and I'm happy about it.' But instead, she simply replied, "She's gone. She can't hurt anyone now."

And that's when the panic attack started. It was the first her parents had been witness to, and it scared them more than they would admit. These attacks had become normal to Hermione by now, although they weren't pleasant. Usually she could control them enough that they only broke through every few weeks, but that was more than enough for her. After seeing their daughter like that, her parents had not pressed her for information.

It had been fine, the last six months. She had found a job just ten minutes away, and it was a decent job, at that. She had finished her high school equivalency program in record time, although it was longer than she had hoped. Being out of the Muggle school system for nine years left her with a lot to catch up on, and she studied fastidiously. As soon as she received her certificate she had applied to university. She had considered some of the larger universities, Oxford in particular, but couldn't stomach the thought of being on her own that far from home. Now that she had her family back, she was hesitant to leave. She had, however, brought up the possibility of getting her own flat, if her parents wanted the place to themselves... They had turned that idea down immediately, though, insisting that she not waste her money on rent when she had a perfectly good room here, and anyway, they were still making up for lost time, so don't be silly.

She had paid them back for the Australia debacle, at least as far as the money went. She still felt guilty for uprooting them, for messing with their lives. Yes, it saved them, but no, it wasn't easy going back. The practice was still struggling, as two years ago patients were not given a reason as to why the office manager couldn't seem to find her dentists. The trust was slow to build, but it was growing. Patrick and Helen couldn't tell their patients (or friends... or family...) the truth, that much was obvious, so they gave enough hints to spell out "witness protection program" without just coming right out and saying it. Patrick would look knowingly at someone, and say something along the lines of, "But it's safe now, they can't hurt us any longer. Justice has been served, and we're free to be ourselves again." If anyone asked questions, he'd just say, "I can't lawfully give you that information, I'm sorry." And that was usually enough to keep them quiet, although it never satisfied the curiosity.

Occasionally he would drop incredibly outrageous statements just because it struck his fancy. "Well, it's never easy dealing with circus folk, you know, but... I should not have said that, please forget you heard that." Hermione would just nod knowingly at her father, and put a finger to her lips. "Shhh, I think you've said more than enough, Dad." The twinkle in her father's eye could keep her going for days.

She had gone to her father with her acceptance letter, in fact. She knew she would get in; she had excellent marks, and it was a given that she would be not only accepted, but accepted on scholarship. After a very long, very comprehensive list of pros and cons for her top five majors, she had decided to double major in History and English. Since it was her first year, however, she would be focusing on gen eds.

That's what she reminded herself over and over again as she made her way into the classroom. Economics. Ugh. Econ was not her strong suit; she was decent enough at maths, of course, but years of Arithmency didn't exactly lend themselves to Muggle markets. She'd have to truly study to do well in this class.

She picked a seat in the front, of course, and set out her notebook, her pen, and her tape recorder. She wrote the date at the top of the first sheet of paper. September 4th, 2000.

"What's with the tape recorder?" She turned to look in the direction of the voice. A pock-marked face with a shock of blue hair looked back at her. He snickered. "Econ is easy. This school is a joke." The owner of the garish hair looked to be eighteen, tops.

She chose her words carefully. "I don't like missing anything. It's a precautionary measure."

He snickered once more. "If you say so. I don't really see the need for it in a class this easy; I mean, seriously, if you just read the newspaper..." She drowned him out after that, throwing him occasional hums of agreement, praying this per-pubescent Smurf would wear himself out and shut up. She thought he had when he finally stopped.

"So, wanna?"

Shit. He had asked her a question.

"I'm sorry, my mind must have taken a mini-holiday. Too early, I guess." She fought not to roll her eyes. She'd been awake since 6 AM.

"You wanna grab some coffee after this? My treat, of course." His eyebrows moved in what she supposed was to be a seductive fashion. Blech.

She thought quickly. "Ah, no, sorry, ahhhh..."

"Rodney."

"Right. Rodney. It's just that I've got back to back classes and then work after that."

His frown was comically large. "Maybe another day?"

She was saved from answering when the professor called the class to attention. She shrugged her shoulders apologetically and faced the front.

This was going to be a long semester.

* * *

"Story, stop making me feel like a mother hen and get your arse out the door already! Merlin, it's your first week back and you're already late." Draco's forehead wrinkled as he listened to himself. Gods, he needed to get out more. Or at all.

The beautiful blonde girl flounced into the kitchen, her blue-green eyes full of mischief. "Oh please, Malfoy, you are beside yourself with glee that I get to live here during the school year. Dry those happy tears, big brother, I'll only be gone for the day."

Draco did his best to keep a stern expression on his face. "I told you not to call me that, Story. Don't let those Gryffindors rub off on you."

Her eyebrows rose suggestively at the comment and she bit back a laugh.

"Ewww, Story, that's not right, not at all. I know you've got a thing for the Weasel, but come on."

Astoria felt her face burning, the heat working its way to her ears, her chest, her fingertips. "You take that back, Draco Malfoy."

His smirk grew larger. "But I'm only telling the truth, little sister. You may not be able to admit it, but I've seen you staring at him. Not only a Gryffindor, but a ginger? It's a good thing I love you so very much or I might have to tease you mercilessly."

"And what would you call this, exactly?"

He grinned. "Teasing mercifully. I'm done, my lips are sealed," he mimed zipping his lips and throwing away the key. "I shan't speak of it any more, my lady," he said with an affected high society voice. "And here are some pancakes to make up for it. But you need to eat them in," he looked at his watch, "two minutes."

She stared at the tower of breakfast food. Chocolate chip, her favorite. Okay, maybe she could forgive him. "Bribery will get you everywhere." She sat down and began to devour the stack.

He watched her put away the food in amusement. The girl could eat. "Spoken like a true Slytherin."

He heard a noise from upstairs and stopped to listen. "Think we've got a visitor." As soon as the words had left his mouth, a streak of fire-red hair made its way into the kitchen.

"Ginny!" Astoria's mouth was stuffed full of pancakes as she greeted her friend; Draco shook his head, amazed that her pure-blood manners had almost completely disappeared by now. She'd never been as prim and proper as some of the other Slytherin girls, including her sister. Still, she'd obviously been spending too much time as the Weasley household with Ginny and Molly. It was getting out of hand.

"Hey Story, you're cutting it close, aren't you?" Ginny laughed as the slightly younger girl began to shovel her breakfast even faster. "Ugh, between you and Ron, I'm surprised that Draco and Kreacher can keep food on the table." She looked at Draco. "You do make such a wonderful house-elf, Malfoy."

Draco fixed her with the best sneer he could muster. "Say that again, Weaselette, and you will never again enjoy my famous chocolate peanut butter brownies."

Her face, once smug and gloating, turned to horror. "You wouldn't really do that, would you, Draco? I love those brownies. I need those brownies."

He laughed for real this time. "No worries, Gingerbread, I won't let you go brownie-less. But cut the house-elf bit, yeah?" Gods, he had become much too soft. Pathetic.

She nodded in agreement as Astoria rose from the table. "Alright big brother, I'm going to school and then I need to go to the market to pick some things up, so I'll be home later than usual."

Ginny's ears perked up at the possibility of shopping. "Diagon Alley? Hogsmeade? Want company?"

Astoria shook her head. "I'm afraid not, Gin. Just a quick trip to the grocery. We're almost out of Nutella, and we can't exactly have Kreacher pick it up for us. And Draco..." she shrugged and walked out the door, calling over her shoulder, "Bye Draco! See you tonight!" Gin followed moments later.

Draco felt a stab of guilt. He knew Astoria wanted him to leave the house more often, but he wasn't ready. There was still too much animosity. He couldn't face his community, and he wasn't brave enough to face the wizarding world like Story.

He had learned so much about his dear friend this year. Astoria's first semester back at school had been brutal; it had gotten out somehow that she had been involved with Nott, a known Death Eater. She had been bullied that whole year, to Draco's horror, but it was Ginny who had given him the news. The Weaselette and Story had been slow to bond, but Ginny had stood up for Story again and again at Hogwarts, and it had cemented their friendship. Thankfully Headmaster Flitwick had allowed her to live at home this year, especially since there would be no members of the Order of the Phoenix attending Hogwarts to protect the Slytherin.

Ugh. He was officially calling Grimmauld Place home. It was just wrong. Once he again he wondered why Potter hadn't thrown him out as soon as his house arrest was up. 'Because' a small voice in the back of his head spoke, 'you're sort of friends, whether you like it or not. And anyway, where would you go?'

The crazy voice in his head was right. He had yet to fill out the necessary paperwork to be given access to his parents' fortune. That meant leaving the house, and worse, going to the Ministry. And that wasn't going to happen. If Astoria was being bullied for simply being involved with a Death Eater, what did that mean for him? He had actually been one of Voldemort's men!

When Christmas holiday had come around last year, Draco had tried to convince Astoria to transfer schools. "Beauxbatons is a wonderful school, Story, and they won't hate you there. You'll be able to learn in peace, and it's not like we get to see each other a lot anyways." She had stubbornly refused. Hogwarts was her school. She was staying.

They had all gone to the Weasley house for Christmas, a first for Draco. He had only been released from house arrest for a few weeks, and while he had assumed he'd be anxious to get out into the 'real world,' he found it terrified him. Story had convinced him that being alone on Christmas helped no one, however. Damn her big eyes and pouting and tears. So he went, and it hadn't been that bad, not really. He still didn't get along with the Weasel or with the funny one, George, so he just ignored them. Molly and Arthur had been very welcoming, however. Molly had even knitted him a jumper, albeit it a slightly ugly one. Still, no one had ever made him anything. He considered the time and effort that went into the gift, and it warmed him. He had worn it all night.

Astoria had been home on break for exactly two days when she announced she needed to go to the grocery to get more food. "Story," Draco protested, "Kreacher can do that." She had argued though, and left.

When she brought back the mountain of food, Draco found himself secretly pleased with her stubbornness. Kreacher never brought back this many treats! The clementine oranges were so incredibly sweet, the plums so perfectly ripe, and when she had introduced them all (save Harry) to the wonders of Nutella... well, she had been doing the grocery shopping whenever she was home since then.

It was Harry who noticed it first. "Astoria, where did you say you went for groceries?"

Her big eyes were innocent. "The grocery store, of course. Don't be daft, Harry. Where else do you get food?"

He fixed her with a searching gaze. "But Nutella is a Muggle thing, Astoria. They don't sell it at magical stores. I know. I've looked for it."

"Well then I suppose I didn't get it at a magical store," she said matter-of-factly. And that was that. She refused to comment on the situation any further, and Draco hadn't pushed her. If Astoria wanted to explore the Muggle world, well, that was her prerogative. She was smart enough to be safe.

Ginny had spoken up then. "Well I think it's bloody brilliant, Story. And I don't just mean the Nutella," she said, licking her fingertips.

And that was that.

* * *

Hermione rushed into the quiet bookstore, accidentally hitting a shelf with her book bag. "Woah there, love, you're okay." Marek's voice was kind yet amused as he watched the young woman maneuver her way around the small store with the large protuberance attached her body.

"Urrrrgh, I'm sorry Marek, I'm not used to this thing yet," she gestured to the bag that was easily half as big as she. "And sorry I'm late!"

He brushed off her apologies with a wave of the hand. "You're not late, Hermione, it's three minutes to four. You're early, if anything."

She sniffed and mumbled, "Three minutes before a shift is at least seven minutes late, in my book."

The older gentleman just shook his head and smiled.

Hermione quickly clocked in and threw her bag into the small break room. "Any special tasks for me, boss?"

Marek shook his head. "None today, love. Edwin and I are going out tonight, but we'll be available in case you need us. Just page us first, okay?"

"Ohhhh, going out? A date, perhaps?" She liked teasing Marek, but she especially loved teasing Edwin. Marek and Edwin had been partners for almost thirty years, but Edwin still blushed if you pushed him enough.

"Yes, a date. I'm taking Eddy out to dinner, and then to the theatre."

Hermione sighed. "He will absolutely love that, Mare."

The man with the salt-and-pepper hair and the gorgeous smile nodded. "Believe me, I know. Lots of brownie points with this one."

Hermione clapped her hands together. "Well go on then, get going! You have to get pretty for your date."

Marek rolled his eyes at the younger girl. "I'm already pretty, angel. But yes, I'm going. Page me if you need us."

"I won't; promise. Now go!" She shooed the bookstore owner out the door and made her rounds.

Once all abandoned books were re-shelved and she'd counted the cash drawer, she sat back and relished in the quietness of the small shop, the smell of books and the bittersweet bite of her coffee.

* * *

It was already six o'clock and so far she'd only had two customers. Once again she wondered how Marek and Edwin were able to stay in business. The shop was never busy, which was fine by her, but she wondered why they had bothered to hire her at all. She was the only employee, and her wage was far too generous.

The tinkling of bells alerted her to a customer's presence, and she put down her coffee to greet them.

"Elizabeth! I didn't know you were in town. What a lovely surprise." Hermione rose to hug her friend, grabbing the proffered brown bags from her grasp. She never knew when Elizabeth would drop by; they had met at the bookstore not long after Hermione started working there. Elizabeth lived about two hours away but often visited her grandmother in London. She was always looking for new books to read aloud to her grandma, as the older woman was almost completely blind. Elizabeth and Hermione had hit it off quickly, which was a first for Hermione.

"I brought dinner; I figured you hadn't had a break yet. Unless you had plans?" Elizabeth's big brown eyes were teasing; Hermione always had plans.

"Actually," Hermione spoke, drawing the word out, "I didn't have plans tonight. The guys are out on a date so I figured I'd just close up shop for a couple of minutes and grab a salad next door." She eyed the Chinese take-out boxes emerging from the brown bag. "But this looks so much better."

Elizabeth handed her a box and a pair of chopsticks. "Mongolian Beef. It's good for the soul." She opened her own box of Chicken Chow Mein and dug in.

"New highlights," Hermione managed to say between mouthfuls.

"Yeah, I wanted something different."

"You always want something different, Elizabeth. I swear, every time I see you, you've got a new hair color or a brand new shirt or a new bag."

Elizabeth smiled, flicking her long now-black-with-red-highlights hair behind her shoulder. "Not all of us hate fashion, 'Mione dear."

Hermione furrowed her brow and put on her best pout. "I don't HATE fashion, I just don't get it. It's a lot of effort, and what's the point, anyways?" She honestly didn't understand what all the fuss was about. She was fine wearing the same five outfits over and over if it meant she didn't have to search for things that matched. She and Elizabeth were very, very different in that regard.

"The point is to feel good. It feels nice when you take time for yourself. I know things like manicures and dye jobs seem silly to you, but pampering yourself... it's good. Great, even. Will you please just let me take you sometime? We won't do anything crazy, no red highlights, I promise. Just a nice cut, maybe get our nails done... what do you say?"

Hermione considered it. She did need to get her hair cut; it was halfway down her back now, which would probably look okay if she actually knew what to do with it. "Okay. A haircut and a manicure, but no crazy colors. On the hair OR the nails."

Elizabeth squealed. "Brilliant! And afterward we can go shopping. You seriously need new clothes."

Hermione smiled. "Don't push it."


	34. Hit the Bottle, Hit the Hay

November 2000

Hermione made a conscious effort the night she left Grimmauld Place not to think of Ronald Weasley. She decided not to think of long mornings in bed, wrapped in sheets and fingertips and warm breath. She decided not to think of all the ways he said her name; how it sounded so different when it was just the two of them. She decided not to think of any of these things, so she didn't.

But no matter how hard she tried, she could not stop herself from dreaming of him.

It felt wrong. He was no longer hers to dream about. It had been a year and a half since she left. She hadn't spoken to him since then, had only written him once. He had not written back, and she accepted his silence.

She still wrote Harry occasionally, but not as much as she had promised. It was difficult to know what to say. She did not ask about Ron or the rest of her magical family. She had told Harry that specifics just made it all the more difficult to stay away. She tried to explain why she hadn't come back, tried to make him see that her giving up magic was a good thing. This way people wouldn't be hurt, she reasoned, and she wouldn't have to be away from her parents as much, and anyway... she couldn't trust herself, or her magic; she'd made that bit obvious.

So the letters that she did send (because she wrote many more that she never even addressed) were sort of... flat. Boring. But she wrote because she had promised.

Harry wrote back, of course, but it was the same. He tried not to talk about magic, tried not to talk about the people that made up his life and his world. So he wrote very little, always signing it, "I love you Bookworm. I hope to see you soon. Harry." And every time she read those words she felt the twisting in her stomach, which never really went away, no matter how excellent she became at ignoring it.

But yeah, she dreamed of them. Of him, especially. Ron. And those mornings when she woke with red hair and blue eyes in her mind, she wondered if he was happy. She hoped he was. As much as it hurt, she hoped he'd found someone who could love him the way that she could not. The way she could no longer, at least. She wanted all the good things for him, while knowing she was not one of them. That knowledge made her lonelier than she could honestly admit to herself, and so she pushed the thoughts and dreams and red hair and blue eyes out of her mind, got out of bed, and got ready for the day.

* * *

It was eleven o'clock on a Saturday night and Hermione Granger felt completely out of place in the club, the music pulsing around her, the strangers moving to the beat, pushing against her. It's not what she expected, the experience. She thought that perhaps she could lose herself here, let go and feel the music, maybe dance with a guy or two. She knew she ought to; dance with a man, that was. She knew that it was time, that she needed to open herself up to those types of experiences once more. It was healthy. Dating was normal, and people said it was fun. But she no matter how hard she tried, she just felt awkward, and out of place, and the dress she had bought weeks ago with Elizabeth seemed much too short now, or too tight, or something. More than anything she wanted to be in her pajamas, in bed, with a book and a cup of tea. She realized, chagrined, that these were not the things she should have been wanting at 21 years old, but she had never really acted her age.

The girls from her economics class had left her to join the throng of dancers over half an hour ago. She didn't know why she had agreed to come in the first place; it was not as if clubs ever held any interest for her in the past. Still, she thought maybe if she shrugged off the chains of responsibility and tried to just enjoy herself for once, maybe she'd bond with her classmates. Maybe some of their unabashed confidence would rub off on her, and she'd suddenly turn into the fun, flirty girl that boys seemed to like so much. Maybe she'd learn to move her hips in that way that was alluring but not slaggy, and she'd meet a guy and maybe he'd be attractive, and attentive, and maybe he'd be someone she could spend time with, and get to know... maybe even grow to really care about. Maybe.

But despite all of her planning, she found herself alone in the corner sipping on a bright pink drink with an umbrella in it. She felt so out of place and despondent that she actually thought about just giving up on the whole night and having a good cry. She wondered how long these girls planned on staying out; definitely past midnight, but after that? Could she manage to wait another half hour, or should she attempt to hail a cab? And if she did manage to wrangle one down, how much would a ride home cost? She hadn't paid attention to the route they took to get here, but she knew it was upwards of thirty minutes away from her parents' house. Mentally she counted the money in her clutch. It would be tight, especially once she paid Michelle back for the nauseating drink, but she could probably make it.

"Hey." A voice over her right shoulder disrupted the mental calculations, and she felt someone take the seat next to her. She had been trying to ascertain exactly how much damage ditching out on this "girl's night" would do to her struggling social life, when again she heard it, "Hey," and the person next to her was suddenly very, very close. Hermione leaned back to look at the stranger, and goodness, but he was pretty. She shouldn't think that of a bloke, of course; handsome, yeah, hot, of course, but pretty? Still, the way his light brown hair hung in his eyes, the way the shadows played across his impossibly high cheek bones... well there was no denying the man was fit, if not at all her type. Did she have a type? She shifted in her seat, unsure of how to respond. She went with something easy.

"Um, hey." Nervously she played with her hair, and then stopped when she realized what it was that she had been doing.

He leaned forward once more, but not in an unpleasant way. She didn't feel as if he was invading her space; he was just showing a bit of interest. And that was fine, right?

"I saw you sitting over here by yourself and I thought I'd come keep you company, maybe? That is, if you're looking for company. Did you come here alone? I'm Jared, by the way. Should have said that first." His lips pulled to the left in a charming lop-sided smile, and he pushed his hair back in a way that could definitely be described as adorable.

She looked him over and decided he didn't appear to be a serial killer, and anyway, he was a better offer than Rodney (the only other boy who had paid her attention recently, only because he wouldn't.. not) so she reached to accept his handshake. "Hermione, and no, I didn't come here alone, despite my current lack of companionship."

He turned the bar stool to face her, and she found that his knees came awfully close to touching hers. She felt at once uncomfortable yet flattered by this close proximity that suggested intimacy. She didn't know this man, not at all. But he sought her out and anyway, he was someone to talk to, so she didn't move away.

Better than crying into her purse, at least.

"So, Hermione. That's a pretty name."

"Thank you."

"Hermione... what brings you here tonight, love?" The endearment felt entirely too false coming from a stranger, but she didn't want to seem rude, so she responded.

"Some classmates invited me out with them. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but I'm beginning to realize that I am not a big fan of crowds, loud music and sweaty bodies all sharing the same space. And I haven't seen my friends... the people I came with in a while. I was just trying to decide if I'd rather wait for them to finish hitting on poor unsuspecting boys or if I should just get a cab ride home."

He looked at his watch and then back at her. "But it's not even midnight! The night is young and so are we. Fancy a dance?"

Hermione shook her head. "I'm not really the dancing sort, at least not this sort of dancing." She glanced at the crowd gyrating to the music and her teeth worried her lip. No, she did not dance like this, at least not in public. In front of her mirror with a hairbrush, maybe... once or twice. But not in public, and not with a stranger.

"Then perhaps a drink?"

She indicated to the cocktail on the table, complete with umbrella. "Got one, thanks."

Jared snickered and tilted his head in a knowing way. "Ah, yes, obviously you're enjoying it so much that you're savoring it. It looks like you've taken one, maybe two sips, tops. Plan on making it last all night?" The last words had a teasing quality to them, and she wondered if he was just being playful or if he had purposefully added the subtle innuendo to the comment.

She shrugged. "Guess I'm not a big fan of the sugary, fruity drinks."

He signaled to the bartender who appeared in front of them immediately. Jared's eyes met hers and he sat back for a moment before saying, "So I'm going to guess that you're more of a wine girl than a cocktail girl, is that right?"

She smiled despite herself, because he was spot on. "You'd be correct in guessing that, yes."

His grin grew and he leaned closer to her. "I'm going to guess red over white... and maybe a nice Merlot?"

She shook her head and a giggle escaped, surprising her. "Close, but I'm partial to Chianti."

Without another word he had ordered her a glass. When it arrived she accepted it without protest, as if a handsome stranger buying her a drink was a normal thing for her, just par for the course. She savored the sweetness of the berry and the spicy undertones. "Mmmm," she noted, approvingly. "Much, much better, thank you. You didn't have to do that, you know."

He raised an eyebrow and did that head-tilt thing once more. "How else am I going to get you out on that dance floor?"

She shook her head and laughed, surprised to find herself almost enjoying the back and forth.

Two glasses later she was convinced to at least try dancing, although Jared promised that they could stop whenever she felt like it. The song changed as they reached the dance floor, and Hermione recognized a remake of an older song she remembered hearing as a child. This version has a decidedly sexier feel to it, and the remixed beat helped with the dancibility. She felt silly at first, all left feet and awkwardness, but Jared put his hands on her hips and slowly moved her to the music. Not very long after she found the beat and the rhythm came naturally, helped only a bit by Jared's sensual movements. The wine made her insides all warm and happy, and her limbs felt loose and free. She closed her eyes and began to lose herself in the movements, not even minding it when her dance partner sidled up behind her and began a slow grind against her. His hands lightly skirted over her stomach and then ran up and down her sides. It didn't feel bad, she had to admit, and she let her head fall back onto his shoulder. Soft lips gently touched her neck. It had been a very, very long time since someone had touched her like that. It was nice.

Two songs and plenty of friction later, she was kissing him back just as hard as he is kissing her. When the movements became more and more frenzied, he leaned down to whisper in her ear, "I live two blocks away if you want to get out of here."

She ignored the nagging voice in the back of her head that cautioned her against leaving a club with someone who may as well be a stranger, especially without telling one of her friends. Classmates? Friends. Whatever. The melting feeling in her belly argued with the voice, and her brain seemed to have shut off long ago. Her swollen lips gave an unspoken answer, and she accepted Jared's hand as he walked out of the club and into the cool air.

The walk to his flat was quiet and full of tension, and he left bruising kisses on her neck and shoulder the whole lift ride up to his place. He fiddled with the keys and let them both in, remarking that his roommate should be out until at least four, if he came home at all. They started on the couch, snogging like mad, all lips and teeth and breath. He pulled her up from the sofa and led her into the attached bedroom. He slowly backed her into the room, his lips never leaving hers, and she felt the back of her knees hit the mattress. Slowly he lowered them both, his lips finding their way down her neck to her collarbone. She was on fire, wanted this so, so badly. They were grinding against one another, and his fingers worked her zipper lower and lower, which was difficult given their present angle. When Hermione found herself in only her bra and knickers, Jared broke contact with her body to reach over her into the top drawer of his bedside table. She watched as he reached into a glass bowl and procured a shiny square. Her brain registered the word "condom," but she had never really seen one up close. Obviously she and Ron had never needed to worry about condoms; magic was easier, and had a much better efficacy rate.

And that was when it finally hit her: she was in a stranger's house, in his bed, and he had a condom in his hand and a serious erection. And they were going to have make love... no, scratch that, have sex. They were going to fuck and she didn't even know his last name. She didn't love him, didn't know him. Yeah, maybe it would feel good, but did she want this, really? Ron was her first, her only. Did she want to add this random guy to her list, minimal as it may be?

No. There was no way. She just couldn't do it.

It was awkward, explaining that this had been a mistake, that she was sorry, that it was just too much too soon. He seemed to understand well enough, but she could see the frustration raging in his eyes. She almost felt bad for leading him on, although it had not been her intention. She considered, just for a moment, taking the time to give him a little release, at least. But the thought of giving some random guy a handjob in this apartment she didn't know, in a part of town she was unfamiliar with, just to give him a little satisfaction and to relieve her of some awkward guilt, or whatever... well, it just seemed sad. And anyway, he could still wank, right? So she apologized again, shimmied back into her dress (she neglected to ask him to zip her up; she'd figure out how to do it herself as soon as she was out out out of there) and left.

The air was misty and she felt the miniscule water droplets slowly but steadily gather on her exposed shoulders. They didn't really bother her, though. She had enough on her mind.

What had she been thinking? Sure, she might not have the best handle on who exactly she was right now, but she knew this wasn't it. She found herself wishing for her wand for the first time in a long time. Apparition would have been wonderful right now. To spin in time and place and find herself suddenly in her own bedroom, with her books, and her pajamas, a boiling hot shower just steps away. But she no longer carried her wand, and it had been far too long since she had attempted wandless magic. The possibility of splinching oneself was great, and anyway, she didn't do magic anyway. Not anymore, at least. So she shook off the familiar magical/electric charge building up slowly beneath her skin and walked back to the club.

So much for Saturday night.

* * *

In another world, less than an hour's drive away (if he drove, which he didn't) Draco Malfoy was curled up in bed at number 12 Grimmauld Place, a cup of tea in hand. He was reading Alice in Wonderland (Hermione Granger's copy, of course) for the very first time. He couldn't keep the smile off his face for the life of him.


	35. Hibernating

The house was quiet as Draco plodded down the old steps to the basement kitchen. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time. Some mornings were more difficult than others. He murmured a greeting in Harry's direction; the Gryffindor sat alone at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of tea and some toast.

"'Nother letter?" Draco muttered inquisitively as he sat across from the newly appointed Auror.

"Yeah," Harry said, "How did you know it was her?"

Draco groaned. "One of the perks of never leaving the house, I suppose, is getting to know your housemates better than you ever wanted to know them. And I know when you get that look on your face, all nostalgic and concerned and pensive, that it must have to do with Granger. So what did she write this time?" He wasn't interested, of course. It was just polite to ask.

Harry shrugged in a way that Draco supposed was to show indifference. "Same old. And since when do you care, Malfoy? You hated Hermione."

Draco felt his face contort into his perfected sneer. "I don't care, Potter, I was just being courteous." 'Curious,' he corrected silently. Definitely curious. "And anyway, I didn't hate Granger. I envied her smarts, yeah. I can admit that now. And I was set against her because of her lineage, but I didn't hate her. I didn't know her. I thought I knew Granger, what she was about, all stuck up and know-it-all bossiness. But I don't know a thing about Hermione, nor do I pretend to... well, except that she left some pretty decent books in the attic."

The anger on Harry's face vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "Yeah, you do seem to like those books. You'll run out, eventually, you do know that?"

"Yeah. I know. But every time I think I've found all of them, read all of them, I stumble upon another and it's just as good as the rest. How that witch found time to actually study schoolwork is beyond me."

Harry laughed. "I know, it boggles the mind. I'm actually surprised you two have similar tastes in books. I mean, I guess I'm surprised that you enjoy Muggle books so much."

Draco rolled his eyes dramatically. "It's easy to enjoy anything when it's the only option. And anyway, they are interesting... I feel as if I've learned quite a bit about that world. The Muggle one, I mean. They don't even need magic, really. They've worked around it, invented things. They're actually quite brilliant, Muggles." Merlin, his father must be rolling in his grave.

"They don't need it because they don't know it," Harry spoke quietly. "If they knew, if they were capable... I think they'd need it."

What the Gryffindor meant by that, Draco had no idea. "Is Granger okay?" He wasn't sure why he asked the question. As he had said, he didn't know the girl. But he was curious; had been for some time, actually. It was natural, of course. She was the missing piece to the Gryffindor puzzle. He was living in the house she had once inhabited; he was reading her books. He had gone through most of her things in search of more books, in fact. He was pretty sure the gray-blue duvet that occupied his bed was once hers. It still smelled sort of like her things; that faint floral with a slight bite. He still couldn't place it. Lavender?

Yes, he was curious about this young woman who was still such a part of the Golden Trio, even when absent. He had heard the whispered conversations between Potter and the Weasel, saw how even now the Weasel's eyes would turn just the slightest bit sad at the mention of her name. He was glad the ginger had stopped moping around, though. It had been pathetic, how despondent he had been after the witch had left. It had been Potter that finally helped him through it, although it had taken the better part of a year. Draco had noticed it all, even as he tried hard not to do so. Like he said, it was part and parcel of never leaving the house. He got to know his housemates very well, whether he liked it or not.

And yeah, he liked Potter. The Gryffindor had slowly grown on him, very slowly at times. But, okay, he sort of got why everyone liked the Boy Who Lived. (Did he just seriously think that? He was turning into such a Hufflepuff). He was quick-witted, and stubborn, but a good friend, and slow to judge too harshly. And he had saved Draco's life more than he would like to admit. He was good at silences, never spoke just to fill the emptiness. Draco had a lot of silences in his life, especially when Potter and the Weasel were at the Ministry and Story was at school. He was good at including Draco as well, which was something the Malfoy heir greatly appreciated, even if he never said it. So they were friends now. Which was weird. And maybe a little wrong.

Harry had still not answered the question, and his forehead was even more creased now, if that was possible. "Harry. Is Granger okay?"

"I don't think so. I mean, I don't know, really." He sighed softly. "She never writes all that much, and when she does, it's all very vague. She's in school, which she says is fine, and she seems to enjoy her job at the bookstore. Every so often she mentions friends... well, friend. She mentions a girl named Elizabeth, who seems to be good for her. Someone to spend time with, to talk to. But it's like she's not really writing me, she's just describing a scene. Do you know what I mean? It's like it's not happening to her, it's happening to someone else and she's just relaying the information to me. The only time it really sounds like her is when she talks about her parents. I know that's good at least. She's with her parents, and that makes her happy. But she seems lost." He paused and worried an already-torn fingernail with his teeth. "I don't know what to do about it. I thought all of this might possibly break her, but I think it did. I think it really did, and I don't know what to do to help her. Because she doesn't want my help, any of our help." He looked down at his lap and frowned. He usually didn't talk about these things to anyone, especially Draco.

The Slytherin was still lost. Granger said she was fine, but she wasn't, and Harry knew this how? "What did you mean, about her being broken? What broke her?"

Harry studied the blonde closely, ignoring the question. It was after several long minutes that he spoke again. "You're so different, Draco. I don't know how to deal with it sometimes. There's a part of me that's still waiting for you to turn tail and go back to who you were."

Draco was silent, unsure of where this was going.

"But it's a good different," Harry said definitively. "It's nothing I would have guessed, you and me sitting here, having a real conversation. But it sort of works. Do you know what I mean?"

Draco grinned sardonically. "Like I said, Potter... It's easy to enjoy anything when it's the only option." He continued, "But you didn't answer my question. What broke Hermione?"

"I did," Harry whispered, suddenly more serious that Draco had seen him in long time. "I asked her to make sacrifices, and she did. I knew she wouldn't be able to face up to them right away. I guess I just thought she'd eventually move on, and come back. But now I'm not sure if she ever will." Harry's fingers tapped a disjointed rhythm on his mug and the table shook just slightly with the anxious movement of his tapping foot.

Draco remained silent. If Harry didn't want to say more than that, well, that's how it would stay. He wouldn't press the Gryffindor for more information. Not now, anyway.

"Yesterday would have been my mother's birthday." Merlin, he really was turning into a Hufflepuff. All of this sharing, speaking to Potter in confidences... pathetic. He hadn't meant to say it. He had been thinking of moving on, and how Hermione couldn't, and then he thought about himself, and his parents, and their inheritance, their property, their expectations...

Harry nodded almost imperceptibly. "You didn't want to visit her grave." It wasn't a question.

He shrugged, attempting the same indifference Harry had mimed earlier. "It's not that I didn't want to." That was it, no explanation. 'It's just that I couldn't.' The unspoken afterthought.

Harry nodded again, and was silent.

They sat there for a while, nursing cold tea, saying nothing. Draco had a lot of silences in his life. Harry was good at silences, never spoke just to fill the emptiness.

* * *

"Oh Hermiiiione..." The voice sing-songed through the store, searching for a certain wavy-haired girl. "I know you're here, I saw your car out back."

The voice wandered through stacks of books, weaving between shelves. "Hermione?"

There was no answer.

The young woman made her way to the back of the small shop and saw her friend seated, leaning against a desk, head in her arms. "Hermione!" She rushed to the girl's side and shook her.

"Hmmmm?" Large, amber eyes blinked, staring straight ahead but not focusing on any one single thing.

"Hermione!" Elizabeth snapped her fingers. "What's wrong? Did you seriously fall asleep on the job? Anyone could just walk in here and steal..." she looked around, "books. Pretty much just books. Are you okay?"

Hermione yawned and stretched. "Yeah, I guess I just fell asleep... I don't know. Maybe I'm coming down with something."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes dramatically. "Maybe you're coming down with the 'a new semester starts on Monday and I prefer to stay on holiday' flu." Her tone was teasing but she still felt uneasy. It wasn't at all like Hermione to slack on the job. It was downright out of character.

Hermione smiled sleepily. "As long as I don't have any more classes with Rodney, I'm fine going back to university." She frowned, "I thought you were stopping by around eight. Did you get off work early?"

"'Mione. Look at your watch."

"Gods!," Hermione exclaimed, "Please tell me that's not right. Tell me that I didn't sleep for almost two hours at work."

Elizabeth smiled widely and held out her wristwatch. "Oh that's definitely right. Such a slacker." She clucked her tongue and shook her finger.

Hermione's voice was frantic as she mentally went over her to-do list. "Would you mind helping me out just a bit? I was in the middle of inventory when I took a break and came in here to rest my eyes... two hours ago."

"Yeah, 'Mione, I'd be happy to help. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we get to eat." Elizabeth grabbed a pile of precariously stacked books from her friend and smirked. "And anyway, I never got to hear about your foray into nightclubs. You talk, I'll count books, yeah?"

Hermione groaned but nodded her consent. "It was terrible... first of all, Michelle ordered me this truly horrific drink, looked damn near electric and tasted like... like... cotton candy and cough syrup combined." She shivered at the memory and laughed along with her friend. "I'm not saying anything else until you start counting."

* * *

After counting far, far too many books, Hermione had closed up shop. She had brought Elizabeth back to hers in order to change clothes.

"Come on in," Hermione said, "and I'll introduce you to my folks." The two young woman made their way to the kitchen where Helen sat with a book and a cup of tea.

"Oh hey sweetie, I didn't hear you come in." Helen looked past her daughter to the girl standing behind her and smiled. "You must be Elizabeth."

Elizabeth smiled warmly and held out her hand. "It's so nice to meet you, Mrs. Granger. 'Mione talks about you all the time."

"Please, call me Helen. Hermione talks about you a lot too; for instance, I know I have you to thank for finally convincing her that trainers are not appropriate in every circumstance. You think she'd be more excited about clothes after having to wear a uniform in school all of the time."

"I'll have you know that we came back here so I could change, Mum," Hermione snapped, but it was all in jest.

"That's because I told you that you smelled like old books and naptime," Elizabeth snickered. Hermione glared at her friend murderously, but no one bought it. "Where's Dad?"

"He ran out to pick up some dinner," Helen answered.

"Speaking of dinner... Hurry up and change, 'Mione, I'm starving." Elizabeth began to physically push her friend out the door. "Go on, get!"

"All right, all right, I'm going."

"So what exactly does naptime smell like?" Helen looked at Elizabeth, puzzled.

"I don't know exactly, I was just poking fun. Hermione fell asleep at work today, can you believe that?" From the look on Helen's face, it was obvious that she could. "Is everything okay, Mrs. Granger?"

"Helen, dear, please. I'm sure everything's fine, it's just that she's been so tired lately. She's been going to bed earlier and getting up later; she didn't even sleep this much when she was a teenager! I wonder if she's coming down with something."

"I'm fine, Mum, I told you." Neither woman had heard Hermione re-enter the room. "I've just been sleepy, that's all."

"You haven't had much of an appetite either, dear. I do notice, you know."

"Mum, believe me, I'm fine. So maybe I'm fighting a bug or something, but I'm fine. Please don't worry about me, okay? And anyway, I've got quite the appetite now, so we need to go find food."

"Agreed!" cheered Elizabeth just as her stomach began to rumble.

Hermione crossed the kitchen and leaned down to kiss her mother's forehead. "I'll be home in a few hours. Please Mum, don't worry about me. I'm good, promise."

Helen grazed her fingers over her daughter's hand and smiled softly, although it didn't reach her eyes. "Okay, sweetie. You call me if you get too tired to drive, okay?"

"Mum, seriously." Hermione rolled her eyes as she grabbed her keys. "I'll see you in a while."

They were almost out the door when Hermione saw the book lying on the entrance table. She grabbed it and handed it to her friend. "Wouldn't want to forget that!"

Elizabeth shook her head, her dark hair flying, red and newly-painted purple highlights flowing around her shoulders. "Oh my gosh, Hermione, thank you! He'd have killed me if I had forgotten it!"

"Who'd kill you?" Hermione asked, confused.

Elizabeth smiled, although it seemed forced. "My dad. He knows how much grandma looks forward to her books."

"Well I hope she likes it. I can't believe she's never read Pride and Prejudice! She'll love it. Every woman falls in love with Mr. Darcy."

Elizabeth grinned, a peculiar glint in her eye. "I'm sure she'll be thrilled. Now let's go. Food. Now. Anything but Chinese, I'll puke if I have to see you eat Mongolian Beef for the umpteenth time in a row."


	36. Hold Back

The winter had been long, and brutal. Hermione slipped-walked on the ice between classes, her eyes tired, her body worn. Something was wrong, that much was obvious.

She fell asleep in class time and again. Her grades were lower than she'd ever seen them before, even lower than they had been in Divination. The bags under her eyes grew darker and darker, the color of her skin paler and paler. Her eyes, once a fiery golden brown, were now muddled and murky. It made her parents anxious just looking at her. She heard them whispering about her appearance, her lack of drive, her mumbled words. She thought about confronting them about it, telling them, again, that she was fine. She didn't believe it, but she needed them to; she didn't want them worrying over her like that. But she didn't say a thing, as it was difficult to hold entire conversations when she felt like this.

It was at the end of March that she finally relented and agreed to see a doctor. It had been over two and a half months since the day she had fallen asleep on the job; she hadn't had a repeat performance since then, thankfully, but she couldn't take the credit for that. Marek and Edwin had obviously noticed her fatigue, because she was rarely left alone in the shop anymore, and she was given many, many breaks. Too many, that was for sure. Still, she didn't think to question it, because she needed those minutes in the break room, stretched out on the couch. The easiest things were now difficult, and she just didn't know why.

The three separate doctors her parents took her to each ran all the tests, looking for everything from mono to cancer, and one had even considered chronic fatigue syndrome, but in the end there was no diagnosis. The closest Hermione had come to a medical reason for her debilitating weariness was depression, but that still wasn't right. She wasn't all that happy, sure, but as the third doctor ran through the sheet of questions, she responded that no, the future did not seem hopeless, and no, pleasure and joy had not left her life. At least not entirely.

She was happy whenever Elizabeth visited. Hermione only saw her good friend once a month at best. She often found herself wishing that she could just Apparate to Elizabeth's home, because the two-hour drive was long. Not that she'd ever actually been to Elizabeth's; the girl always visited her, since her grandmother lived nearby. But still, if she could ('would,' she reminded herself) Apparate, she'd see her friend more often. But she didn't, of course, because she no longer did magic.

Work was fairly enjoyable. Hermione loved her job, loved Marek and Edwin and all the books. She even forgave the men when they set her up on what could only be described as a truly horrific date. Her suitor was twenty-eight, a cousin or nephew or something of Edwin's. He wasn't bad looking, per say, just... strange. He had quoted her mangled Shakespeare in an attempt to be romantic; he had added in extra words and combined several plays, reciting lines from both Romeo and Hamlet at one point. She had mentally corrected the inaccuracies, because she just couldn't help it. But the worst part... ugh. She hated even thinking about it, hated how much she had judged him... but he had preformed magic for her. Not real magic, of course, just shoddy little tricks. "Prestidigitation," he had proclaimed proudly. She had done her best to appear interested, but the whole thing just made her sad. Here she was, 'the brightest witch of her age,' and this Muggle was showing her 'magic.' And she herself hadn't done real magic in a long, long time.

Her parents were in her life, and that was one of the few things that truly did give her joy. They were together again, and although she knew that she couldn't spend the rest of her adult life living in their home, it was comforting just to know they were alright. That her parents knew who she was, that they loved her after everything. Madeleine had been right in the end.

So yeah, she had pleasure and joy in her life. The highs weren't as high as they had once been, but she chalked that up to maturity. She was no longer the bright-eyed girl in the Hogwarts uniform. She had seen and done things that had forever changed her. It wasn't depression, it was reality.

That's what she reminded herself that mid-April afternoon as she mopped the coffee off her white jumper. It was one of those days when nothing really went the way you wanted it to go. She had overslept her alarm, and although she had only been four minutes late to her first class, it had thrown her entire day off. She hadn't had time to make her morning coffee, so she was even more exhausted than usual. Consequently, she hadn't paid attention when the professor called on her twice, and when she had finally realized that she was being asked a question, she couldn't think of the answer. Rodney had found her between classes and had asked her out again, and again she had had to turn the boy down. He was nothing if not persistent, that was for sure.

"Hermione, are you okay?" Marek's voice was muffled by the bathroom door, but Hermione could hear his concern.

She sighed. "I'm fine, Mare, sorry for running back here without saying hello. I just spilled half a cup of coffee on me on the way in. I'm trying to get it out, but it's being stubborn." She opened the door, pointing to the stain marring her sweater as she frowned.

"Ohhh, you weren't kidding about a half cup. Hang on, I'll be right back." Marek disappeared further into the back room and reappeared with a t-shirt. "Here, change into this and hand me the jumper. I'll see if I can do any better." Hermione reluctantly agreed and switched shirts, amused at the length of the tee.

Marek looked her up and down and laughed at the sight. "Well Hermione, it might be drowning you, but at least it's dry."

Hermione heard the words but they didn't register. She felt the room begin to spin and so she sat down quickly, drawing her knees to her chest. Shit, not here, please not here. Not now.

But the panic attack had come on suddenly, too quickly for her to employ her calming tactics. The stress of the day must have lowered her inhibitions, because already she was shaking, unable to control the way her teeth chattered. Her thoughts began to race, and it was all she could do to keep up with them. 'Drowning drowning drowning. He feels like he's drowning. He feels like I'm killing him. Drowning drowning drowning drowning drowning.' That one word, over and over, interspersed with flashbacks of Nott. Shit. Please not now.

She gritted her teeth, doing her best to keep her jaw from trembling. She blinked back the tears that threatened to fall, absolutely refusing to cry on top of this. She heard Marek's concerned tone, but she couldn't concentrate on his words. He had said one word, drowning, and she had completely fallen apart. Usually when she fell apart like this, there was a real reason, not one single word said in passing. And when the panic attacks had come in the past, she was almost always alone. This was horrifying, and embarrassing, and scary.

She felt him join her on the ground, and then arms wrapped around her and pressed into her tightly. She again heard the questions, all delivered with the utmost of care. Hermione tried her best to communicate to Marek, but the words she managed to string together were almost incoherent. "M'okay. Panic. Will go. M'okay. Just stay. It. Goes." She closed her eyes tightly as she tried to gain control of her breath. It was proving almost impossible to simply regulate her breathing, however. She gasped suddenly, and all the lights in the room flickered. Marek looked around cautiously, and Hermione knew then that she had been the cause for the fluctuation in power.

Marek just held her closer, his hands smoothing her shoulders, his lips whispering calming thoughts into her hair. She heard the door open and then slam shut again, but no one had entered the room. Shit, not now, please.

After several incredibly tense minutes, she felt her muscles begin to relax and she unclenched her jaw. Her breathing began to calm and her gasps were quieted. She could feel the muscles in her torso burn from the constant contracting. Marek had obviously noticed the attack was passing, because he loosened his grip around her and sat back, lightly brushing her hair with his fingers.

"Shhh, it's okay, I've got you."

The embarrassment came on full-force then, and Hermione buried her face deeper in her arms. Marek was her friend, yes; he and Edwin had become wonderful constants in her life, and she was grateful for them. It didn't change the fact that they were her bosses, however, and one of them had just watched her freak the hell out, and while on duty. And what about the flickering lights? She suspected the slamming door has something to do with her as well.

"M'sorry," she whispered, not lifting her head.

"Nothing to be sorry about, love." She felt his hands brushing her hair again, and the compassionate act made her eyes prickle. "Hermione..." he breathed, his voice troubled. "How long has it been since you've done magic?"

What?

"What?" she asked, confused. Maybe she hadn't heard him correctly.

What?

He sighed softly, his finger slowly lifting her jaw until they locked eyes. "How long has it been since you've done magic?"

She could not have imagined it twice, unless she had somehow passed out during the panic attack and this was some strange dream. She was silent as she considered his question. How was she supposed to respond to that?

Her voice was gravelly from the strain of the attack. "A long time." Well, it wasn't a great response, but at least it was something. Then, "How long have you known?"

She watched as a sad smile spread across Marek's face. "From the moment you walked in my front door, love."

She shook her head, uncomprehending. "I don't understand."

His hand squeezed her shoulder, and then he stood and pulled her up with him. "Let's get you a cuppa and then we can really talk."

* * *

Marek turned the sign on the bookstore's door to 'closed,' walked back to the break room and sat down across the table from Hermione. He noticed the weariness on the young woman's face, and he mentally berated himself for not seeing the signs earlier. Hermione had seemed sick for months now, and he had just supposed that she was fighting some sort of bug. Or maybe it was seasonal depression. Or the aftereffects of the war. But he should have known.

She accepted the cup of tea and slowly sipped from it. When she felt brave enough, she looked him in the eyes, and asked the only real question she had. "How?"

He smiled a slow, sad smile, and it was unlike any she had seen on his face before. Gone was the cockiness he was known for, and the seriousness that replaced it was slightly unsettling. "I'm a Squib, love. Edwin doesn't know, and I'd like to keep it that way." He sipped his tea, contemplating his next words. "As far as he is concerned, magic doesn't exist, and I have largely ignored it myself these past decades. I'm an only child, like you, and my parents put me in a Muggle school when my magic didn't present itself by the time I was to go off to Hogwarts. My dad's a wizard and my mum's a witch, but they never made me feel bad about my lack of magic. They adapted amazingly well to their non-magical progeny, all things considered." He smiled wanly and took another sip. "I was an adult when You-Know-Who started making trouble the first time. My parents left the country and spent a year or so in Sweden with some distant relatives. I had already been with Eddy for the better part of our adult lives by then, so I stayed where I was, although I wasn't really concerned over my own safety or his. Perhaps that was naive of me, but I sort of guessed that You-Know-Who wouldn't worry himself over a gay Squib living in Soho. I still heard the stories, though, through my parents. We all thought Vol..." he looked at Hermione apologetically, "You-Know-Who was defeated the first time, so obviously it was quite a shock when he returned." He bit his bottom lip and looked away. "I didn't believe it; I thought it was a lie, like so many other people. My parents weren't sure, but I thought it was just a publicity stunt or something of the sort. When people started dying, I learned just how wrong I was. My parents went back to Sweden, and I stayed put. They kept me updated, though, and that was the first time I heard your name. You were wanted for consorting with Potter, so I knew you had to be on the right side. I followed the news as best as I could, but it was all through my parents, and they were afraid to contact me more than what was absolutely necessary." Marek looked back at Hermione, and she saw the fondness in his eyes. "They were still worried about me, even then. Me, some random Squib who can't cast one simple spell." He looked away once more and continued. "My parents showed up at my door one morning and said it was all over, for good this time. I was so selfish, all I really cared about was that they were safe. I didn't have any other family or friends who were in danger, it had only been them. I remember thinking, 'Good, glad that's over and done with.'" He sighed again and ran his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair. "And then one day, months and months later, you show up in my shop." He met her gaze, his eyes wet. "I knew who you were the moment I set eyes on you. Your pictures from the Daily Prophet were up on my parents' refrigerator, along with your friends. You were the girl that helped save my family. Hermione Granger, a hero. For the life of me I couldn't figure out why you were in my shop. But when you asked if we were hiring... well, there was only one answer, wasn't there? I didn't know why you were here, in the Muggle world, but there was no way I was going to turn you away, not after all you sacrificed."

Hermione didn't know how to respond. "But you... you never said a word."

Marek shrugged, and the gesture was so familiar, so Marek, that Hermione found herself relaxing unconsciously. "I sort of figured you'd only be here if you had a good reason, or if you felt that it was your only choice. I wasn't going to question that."

Hermione nodded, thoughtful. "And Edwin doesn't know?"

"No, and I would prefer to keep it that way."

"Seems like an awful big secret to keep from your partner, especially after all these years." The words left her mouth before she could stop them, and she mentally smacked herself over her rudeness. It wasn't her business; it wasn't her relationship.

Marek's eyes were sad when he responded, "Imagine there was a world where your wildest dreams could come true, just by speaking them into existence. And now imagine that no matter how hard you tried, you weren't allowed in. You knew the world existed, and you could see it, but you couldn't get past the front door. What would be worse, knowing about it but not being able to experience it, or not knowing at all?"

Hermione regarded her friend for several long moments. "I suppose I'd rather not know." She wished even now that she didn't know; it would make it easier to stay out of that world. Sure she could speak things into existence, but they were dangerous things.

Marek nodded. "Me too."

Hermione sipped her tea and then wrinkled her nose. "Tea's gone cold."

"Here," Marek said, reaching for the mug, "Let's get you another."

He busied himself about the small kitchen, and brought back a fresh cup of tea and some biscuits. "You can ask me anything, you know."

"Well," she said, "I am curious as to why you wanted to know about my magic. What did you mean, exactly?"

"When I asked how long it had been since you had done magic?" Marek clarified.

"Yes."

He pointed to the ceiling. "It was the lights that gave it away. Well, that and the door. It's called breakthrough magic, usually only seen when a child is very young. It's one of the first signs of a magical core. My parents monitored me very closely, but they never saw as much as a flickering light bulb or a hovering toy. When you were in the middle of the panic attack, the lights reacted. At first I thought it was just a power glitch, but the door... that was definitely breakthrough magic. The only time you see it in adults, from what I've heard at least, is when a wizard or witch is either mentally or emotionally unstable, or when they've been suppressing their magic. It's like energy, see? It'll come out one way or another."

Hermione bit her lower lip, unsure as to whether she should ask the next question. Hell, she'd already had a full-fledged panic attack in front of her boss and friend, complete with tremors and gibberish. Might as well lay it all on the table. "So how do you know I've been suppressing? Maybe I am mentally or emotionally unstable." Giving voice to her doubts didn't quiet them; if anything, she was even more sure now that she was going insane.

Marek laughed, a deep laugh that bubbled up from his toes. "You are one of the sanest people I have ever met, Ms. Granger. And if I had any doubt of that, I'd only have to look at how sick you've been these last months. If you don't let the magic out, it can begin to affect you in other ways. Like I said, it'll come out one way or another. I think your magic has been repressed for so long that it's hurting your immune system. It's dangerous, what you're doing. You need to let it out, love. It's the only way."

Hermione shook her head. "I can't," she whispered.

"Oh sweetie," Marek sighed, taking the young woman's hands in his. "I don't know what it was that broke you, but your magic, it's a gift. Believe me, I'd do anything to have your abilities. But listen to me when I tell you this: if you don't do something soon, it will just get worse. And a time will come when it will begin to affect not only you, but those around you. Don't let it get to that, okay?"

"Okay," she said, her voice barely audible. "I'll try."

"Okay. How are you feeling, love?"

Hermione shifted in her seat. "Like I should be working." It was true. More than anything she wanted to re-open the store and shelve books, anything to get her mind off this conversation. She wasn't ready to do magic, regardless of the consequences. And Marek didn't know what she knew: the fact was, she couldn't be trusted. Or more specifically, her magic couldn't be trusted. She'd find a way to release the energy without wielding her wand. She'd never let it harm anyone again.


	37. Hiding

The day after her embarrassing panic attack in front of Marek, and his subsequent confession, Hermione felt more like herself than she had in months. Maybe it was the breakthrough magic, maybe it was just having someone else that she cared for knowing who she really was... either way, she found herself practically bouncing into work. It was a Wednesday, which meant she only had morning classes, so she had all afternoon and evening to catch up the work that was neglected yesterday. She had a new shipment of books that needed to be cataloged, stickered, priced, and then put away. A specially requested book should have arrived that morning, and she needed to call Mrs. McLeod to let her know it was available whenever she had time to drop by. As Hermione made her way through the shop, she smiled hello at Edwin, who was perched high on a ladder, carefully dusting the stacks.

Marek was sitting at the break table, the log book opened in front of him. Hermione clocked in and then stood behind him, peering at the list he held in his hands. "Is that the invoice from yesterday?" He nodded, not looking up from the paper. "Mare, leave it be, I've got it. It's on my to-do list today." He nodded once more but didn't look up. She snatched it from his hands quickly and held it away from the man. "I said I've got it, so stop working. You don't have to stay here today, I feel fine. I don't need a sitter."

He still hadn't looked up at her; instead he scribbled something in the log book, but she could see the smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Well, I suppose if you insist... then yes, you can log the books. If you must."

She laughed, knowing just how tedious Marek thought the task was; once upon a time that particular chore had fallen to Eddy, but Hermione had taken over the day after she had been hired. She found the task enjoyable, actually. It was calming to take account of all the books, to dutifully write them down on the lined paper, columns lined up carefully. Everything in its place.

She moved to the door and closed it quietly. Marek looked on in curiosity, but said nothing. "So I was thinking a lot last night," she started, "about yesterday."

"Mmmhmm."

"I guess I have a few questions, but the first is this: how on earth could you set me up with Edwin's cousin, the magician," she said the word with complete derision, "while knowing that I was a witch? He pulled a coin out of my ear. Out. Of. My. Ear. And I had to pretend to be impressed. That was just evil, Marek. "

He smirked, the lopsided smile adding to his attractiveness instead of taking away from it. "I thought it was fairly humorous, actually."

"Merlin, I swear, if you weren't a Squib, you'd have been in Slytherin. I just know it." She regretted the words as soon as she said them; surely it was a sore topic, his inability to perform magic. But no, his smile just got wider.

"Well, I would have been in good company, then. My dad and two of my cousins were snakes. And I do look fantastic in green. "

"Should have known," she muttered under her breath.

"What was your other question?" Marek asked.

Hermione frowned, unsure of how to phrase the question. "Well... I have been living as a Muggle for almost two years now, and although I do occasionally get letters from Harry, we don't talk about... well, my previous life. With them. And magic. I just wondered if you had heard anything from your parents about," she waved her hand, gesturing casually, "anything."

"Anything?" he questioned.

"Um, yes. Anything about Harry. Or," she paused, "Ron." She wouldn't meet his eyes; he had to know anyway, it's not like her relationship with the Weasley boy had been a secret. Still... "It's just that I haven't heard from them... from Harry, that is, for a while. And I'm just curious. Are they well?"

"Well love, I haven't heard anything bad, if that's what you mean. But to be honest, I haven't heard much at all. I heard back in the fall that Potter had become a full Auror with the Department, but that was a while ago."

Hermione gasped, "A senior Auror? Really?"

Marek nodded, "Yeah, that's what I heard. My mum and dad are big fans, you see, so they keep me abreast of all the Potter news. I'm more of a Granger fan, myself." He grinned at the younger girl cheekily.

The color left Hermione's face and she sat down quickly. When she'd found her voice, she whispered, "What do they say about me?"

Marek leaned over to grasp her hand, concerned at her sudden change in disposition. "What is it, love?"

Her jaw was set, the words coming out between clenched teeth. "What do they say, Mare?"

He shook his head, unsure of what was happening. "They say you're a hero. They say that you saved us, all of us, not just wizards and witches but Squibs and Muggles too. Your friends, Potter and Weasley, they say that you held everything together, that you were the one who kept them going. They say that they wouldn't have lasted a week without you." His fingers grazed the back of her knuckles, willing her to meet his eyes. "Hermione, love, I don't know what happened to you, but you're a hero, an inspiration. I've felt honored just to know you."

She pulled her hand away and stood up suddenly, her face molded into a caricature of happiness. The lying smile pulled at her features, warping them. "That's very nice of you to say, Marek. I should go out to the front; leave the inventory here and I'll get to it later, I promise. Oh, and just to remind you, I won't be coming in Friday or Saturday; Elizabeth will be in town and we're having a girls' weekend." The words sounded chipper, but Marek didn't believe them. No matter what she said, Hermione was hurting right now. He only hoped some time with a good friend would help ease her pain.

"Of course."

She turned to leave, but he called out, "Hermione? Just remember what I said about the energy, okay? It'll come out one way or another."

Her false smile grew even more, until it was stretched far beyond the limits of any natural expression. "Of course, Mare."

"Be careful, love," he whispered as he watched her depart. He couldn't shake the feeling that she was in more danger than she realized.

* * *

"Merlin, there you are! I've been looking all over the house for you! Didn't you hear me calling?" Astoria stepped out of the attic and onto the roof. She strode up to Draco, a hand on her hip. He glanced up at the annoyed witch with a smirk on his face.

"If I had heard you calling, I would have responded," he answered cheekily, dodging her foot as it moved to kick him over from the position he was currently crouched in. "Watch it, young one, or you'll get it," he warned.

"Who are you calling young, Draco? You're a year older than me, big brother; that's nothing. Practically negligible."

He laughed at her, "Ohhh, such big words for such a little sister. You may be eighteen, but I'm still a year and a half older, mind you, which makes me your elder. And as your elder, I feel it is my duty to tell you that if you try to kick me over again I will take you down, and I will hold your face in the dirt, and I will let all sorts of spiders crawl on you. That's a promise."

She rolled her eyes at him, a smile creeping on her face. "Number one, it's Ron that's afraid of spiders, not me, so yeah, good try."

"Your big strong Gryffindor boyfriend terrified of an itsy bitsy spider... it's too perfect." He laughed mockingly.

"He's not my boyfriend," she muttered. Definitely not her boyfriend. More than a friend, yeah. But long glances across the living room, quiet walks to the park, and a few clandestine snogging sessions did not a relationship make. Right? "Stop trying to distract me. Like I was saying. Number two, you love me too much to hold my face in the dirt. And number three... I forgot number three. What on earth are you doing, anyway?" She gestured to the cup in his hand, the liquid therein dark red and thick. "Is that what I think it is?"

He nodded. "Yeah, disgusting, isn't it? Neville says that these guys need it, though," he said, pointing towards a plot of particularly dangerous looking plants. "It's cow's blood, if that helps." He smirked, the trademark Malfoy expression as natural on his face as his eyes, or his nose, or his lips.

She shivered. "No, I'm not sure that it does. Nasty plants that drink blood... why exactly did Neville plant these?"

"Dionaea Vampellia venom has analgesic properties. It acts almost like an opioid; it's surprisingly strong. Nev and I think we can mix it with wolfsbane to lessen the pain of lycanthropy. Unfortunately, the monthly change would still occur with the full moon, but it would be virtually painless. At least, that's the theory. I need to get back in the lab and work the potion a bit," he frowned, considering his most recent attempt, "but the plants need more time to mature before I can extract the amount of venom I need for my secondary trials."

Astoria's smile was wide and mischievous. "You and Longbottom, saving the world and helping the flight of werewolves, one terrifying plant at a time." She snickered. "Merlin, when did you become such a Hufflepuff?"

He feigned throwing the bovine blood at her and she ran away, shrieking. "Yeah, that's what I thought. And anyway, this isn't Hufflepuff work. Ravenclaw, maybe, but only because I'm so damn brilliant. And it's not purely altruistic; once the potion has been patented under the Malfoy-Longbottom Laboratory name, we'll be able to sell it as a pretty price."

Astoria gasped, "You're giving him second billing? Seriously? Damn, you really have lost your pretty blonde head."

Draco threw his hands up in the air. "What else am I supposed to do? My name means nothing. Less than nothing, actually. At least Longbottom's a war hero; anyway, if people see we're partners in the business, maybe it will give us the credibility we need to get this venture off the ground. And Salazar knows that I wouldn't be able to do this on my own. Without Neville's crazy herbology brain, I may as well be planting tomatoes."

Astoria nodded. "Yeah, I guess you're right. People will have to learn to give you the benefit of a doubt sometime or other, though. But you need to show them that you're not ashamed, or hiding, or whatever."

"But I am. Ashamed, that is. And hiding." The words were flippant, but they still hurt to admit.

She shook her head sadly. "Draco, it's been two years since you defected. When are you going to forgive yourself?"

"I have forgiven myself, Story, I just haven't forgotten. And if I haven't forgotten, you can sure as hell bet that the rest of the world remembers exactly what I did. If you haven't noticed, people aren't exactly tolerant towards former Death Eaters."

"And how would you know that?" Her voice was sharp, all pity gone. Well, at least Draco could appreciate that. He hated pity; at least this kind "Come on Draco, tell me how you know. Reading the Prophet, is that it? Because you can only believe so much of that drivel, even now." She shook her head as she paced the roof, weaving in and out of the labyrinth of potted and hanging plants. "You never leave the house, Draco. You have no idea what the world is really like anymore. How can you? You're self-imprisoned in this place! You've been off house arrest for almost a year and a half and where have you gone with your freedom? To the Burrow."

"I thought you liked the Burrow," he muttered defensively.

"I love the Burrow, but that's not at all what I mean, and you know it. You need to get out! Go to the bleeding grocery store, buy some sodding eggs or milk or whateverthehell else you could possibly need. Just get out. You can't keep this up, Draco, it's not healthy."

He sat back on his haunches, his head in his hands. "I know," he whispered. "I know. I just can't. It doesn't make sense, and it sounds absolutely barmy when I try to explain it, so I'm not about to try. I just can't face them, Story, any of them. I don't know how to be nobody in this world. I used to like it when people were afraid of me, you know? Now I just wish that I had a different last name and a different history." He was silent for a long time, not looking at her. She could have left without him knowing, but he knew she wouldn't just walk out when he was like this. And shit, he hated being like this, all weak and sad and pathetic. He didn't know how to stop it, though. He'd spent months trying to figure out the perfect words, the correct thing to do. There had to be some way back to where he had once been, before Voldemort made hell out of every aspect of his life. But his parents were gone, and so were his connections, not that they were exactly above-board connections in the first place. And he didn't know how to do this by himself, to start again. Would the Malfoy name ever been looked at with anything besides disdain? Would there ever be a day when he could walk down the street and people wouldn't think, 'Merlin, there goes that pathetic double-crossing Death Eater asshole; why isn't he in Azkaban?' He bit his lip, his head still hidden by his arms. "It's not that bad, you know. I mean, you're here, and Potter's not all that terrible. Weasley is still a prat, but you seem to like that, so whatever. Neville visits, and so does the Weaselette. I've got my books, and my potions. There are worse lots in life."

Astoria knelt down next to her fellow Slytherin and raised his head with her hands. "Yes, Draco, there are worse lots. But you deserve more than this. I just wish I could make you believe that."

He shrugged. "Just keep trying, and maybe one day I will."

Astoria leaned over and kissed the top of his head, where his hair grew in a slight whorl pattern. "Okay," she promised. It was a simple declaration, but he knew that she meant it.

They stood and Draco followed her back into the house. They plodded down the many flights of stairs to the kitchen, where Astoria put on a kettle of water for tea.

"I'm going to the grocery tomorrow, if you want to leave me a list," she said, pointing to the magnetic pad of paper on the refrigerator.

"Fine, but you have to buy everything on the list this time. No skipping over the vegetables and ransacking the sweets aisle this time, got it? I'm not going to make another chocolate-based dinner, I swear to Salazar. If I write down broccoli, I expect to get broccoli, not Keebler elf cookies. Just because it has a tree on it doesn't mean it's 'related' to broccoli." He made sarcastic finger air quotes and looked at his best friend sternly.

"Gods, you are old," she complained, "I take it all back." She grabbed a light jacket from the rack beside the back door and headed towards the stairs.

"And just where are you going, young lady?" Draco's tone was dripping with condescension.

"Um, just out for a bit."

"Out to the Ministry? To meet a certain redheaded Weasel and walk the dreary 4 kilometers home? In the rain? Because you're insane?"

Astoria just rolled her eyes, flicking her long blonde hair in front of her face to hide her sudden blush. "I'll be back later, Dad, don't wait up."

Draco smirked at her departing figure, the red from her cheeks visible between strands of hair. He heard her one floor above as she stepped towards the fireplace. "Don't forget an umbrella, dear!" he called loudly, relishing the aggravated sigh that filtered down the stairs from overhead.

He hummed quietly to himself as he set about doing the dishes from that morning's breakfast. Once they began to wash themselves (aided by magic, of course), he sat down to a cup of tea. More often than not, he enjoyed his days alone. He tended to the roof garden, kept the house relatively clean (Kreacher still deserved to feel needed, after all), prepared meals, worked on potions, and read. He reached across the room to grab his latest novel from the countertop. So far it was much too stuffy of a book for him, and he felt more than a passing understanding towards the handsome and arrogant male antagonist, which he didn't suppose was the intention of the author. But truthfully, it was a decent enough read, and anyway, he was low on choices.

His sipped his tea slowly, savoring the sweetness of the fancy organic sugar he had made Story pick up on her last errand. The rain tapped lightly on the sunken kitchen windows, and he found himself thinking that there really were worse lots in life.


	38. Hello

It was 2:48 in the afternoon, and no matter how hard Hermione stared at the clock at the front of the classroom, it never seemed to speed up. In fact, she wouldn't be surprised it if had started to go backwards... Class was over at 3:00 PM, and then she'd make her way back home to meet up with Elizabeth. She couldn't wait to spend a full weekend with her friend; normally they'd hang out for a day, tops. Her grandmother came first, of course; Elizabeth spoke so fondly of the woman, Hermione felt as if she actually knew her.

And then there were the commute. Two hours each way was tiring, so it was no wonder that Elizabeth never stayed very late. This weekend would be extra fantastic, Hermione was sure of it. She had even decided not to fight Elizabeth on shopping or dancing or whatever other ridiculous plans were in the works. She'd just relax and have fun.

Well, she'd try. That conversation the other day with Marek had left her in a weird place emotionally, and now that she'd been warned of her power or energy, or whatever Mare liked to call it,she was more aware of the thrum that pervaded her body. It was not unlike the nervous energy one gets before the first day of school, although she had to admit it was a bit stronger. And it hadn't really ebbed; it was constant, flowing through her.

She had seriously considered Marek's warning, but she just couldn't bring herself to attempt any magic. She preferred ignoring all of it; she could not remember the last time she had even looked at her wand, to be honest. It was easier just to pretend none of it had ever happened, that it had all been some strange dream. Of course, a history without Harry or Ron or Hogwarts was sort of boring (and the thought of not knowing her friends the way she once had just about broke her heart; it had been far too long since she'd written them, much less talked to them) but at least it was safe.

Safe. She worried about not being safe, of course. All that talk about the energy coming out one way or another. Hermione had thought about that for a while. Running seemed to alleviate the tension in her body to some extent; it came back as soon as she slowed down to walk, but it was something, some sort of outlet. But really, it wasn't like anything had happened. She hadn't hurt anyone, hadn't even been dangerous. It was just a little flickering of some old lights and a door closing. Not a big problem. She knew tonight she'd be relaxed, just enjoying herself, and so she wasn't worried about another panic attack. "Don't Panic," right? She knew Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy was on to something.

She roused herself from her daydream, afraid she'd been obviously zoning out for the last half hour. Surreptitiously she looked up at the clock. 2:51 PM.

Seriously?

* * *

"Draaaaaaco," Astoria sang loudly, her voice echoing through the empty kitchen, "I've got your disgusting broccoli. Get your arse down here and help me put this stuff away."

She heard the pounding steps on the three sets of stairs and then Draco was beside her. "What part of 'use your wand' don't you get, Story? You've got magic. Make the cans put themselves away or something." He nudged her in the side, harder than necessary.

She smirked at her friend, "Oh really? Do you know a super-fancy yet very specific vegetable sorting spell? Because I'd love to hear it. It would need to clean out the refrigerator too, of course. But I'm sure you have all that memorized. Being the good housewife you are, and all."

Draco scowled at his fellow blonde Slytherin. "Just hand me the veggies and let's get this over with."

"Mmmhmmm. Thought so."

The two set about putting the groceries away, stopping every so often to nibble at the chocolate bar Astoria had already opened and left on the counter. The amount of chocolate Astoria consumed was amazing in a way; you think she'd get sick of it, or at least get fat. But no, it was like her body's fuel, just the perfect thing to fill her up and give her energy and a sugary smile.

And she was wearing a smile, a bright one that lit up her face like sunshine on a crisp, snowy morning. She was humming quietly as she rearranged boxes of tea in the cupboard to accommodate the new flavor of the week.

"What's got you so chipper, then?"

"Oh nothing. Just happy I guess. It's the weekend, you know, starting now. TGIF."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You've been watching too much Muggle television."

Astoria wiggled her eyebrows. "Draco, you can try to be all 'I don't BELIEVE in television, I prefer to read' or whatever, but we both know that you love that Muggle contraption just as much as I do. So stop putting on airs and just admit it."

He snorted. "I will admit that some shows are more tolerable than others."

"Mmmhmm," she smirked sardonically. He may not admit it, but she knew. She'd seen him sitting on the edge of the couch and muttering advice to the characters on the screen. He was just as hooked as she was.

"So do you and lover boy have any big plans this weekend?" Draco intoned in a way that made it perfectly clear that he didn't care whatsoever. Yeah, he loved Astoria more than he loved anyone else in this universe or the next, but the Weasel still got under his skin. Still, he knew that he had to at least be begrudgingly supportive of his friend; she was an adult now, and if she wanted the Weasel... well shit. He didn't get it, but he wasn't going to push her.

Astoria rolled her eyes, but didn't respond to the blatant sarcasm. So Draco and Ron didn't get along; that was fine. As long as they stayed out of one another's way, it was fine by her. Let them dislike each other; that just meant they wouldn't be gossiping about her behind her back like a couple of hens.

"No, Ron's busy with work this weekend, so I was thinking of spending some time with a few of the girls at school."

"At the castle, you mean?" Draco's eyes grew large; Astoria commuted to school because of the bullying she'd sustained last year. It was strange for her to willingly spend more time in that ancient building than what was absolutely necessary.

She shrugged, "Yeah, that is where they live, you know. Anyway, it's just a few more months until I'm out of school and then who knows where we'll all end up? May as well enjoy the time we have together."

"That's very nostalgic of you, Story. Are you going to sign their yearbooks, too?"

Astoria's nose crinkled. "Huh?"

"Nevermind. Muggley joke." Merlin, he did need to get out of this house. "Like I said, you have been watching too much telly. Unless your mates are moving to Zimbabwe or where-the-hell-ever after graduation, you'll be able to Apparate to see them anytime. You do realize that, right?"

"Whatever, Draco." She rolled her eyes.

"Are they at least hot, these secret friends of yours?"

"They aren't secret, you git, you just don't know them. And yeah, they're fit. Why don't you come with me to the castle and you can meet them yourself?"

"Or they can come here and we'll have a nice sit-down dinner, how about that? I've got Firewhiskey..." He bumped her hip with his and grinned.

Astoria bit her bottom lip and her tone grew serious. "You can't stay inside forever, you know; it's not healthy."

"I go outside," Draco responded defensively. "What do you call the roof? And besides that, I go to the Burrow now and then. That's halfway across the country, you know."

She shook her head sadly. "I don't like to see you like this."

Yeah, well, he didn't like to see himself like this either. But he couldn't seem to leave; gods know he had tried. Every time he felt he almost had the nerve, he'd step up to the fireplace and freeze. There was no way in hell he'd try Apparition after all this time; he'd definitely splinch himself in this state. It just didn't work, leaving. His brain and his body wouldn't come to an agreement, and his nerves and his doubts certainly didn't help the situation. The world was different now, and he didn't know if there was a place for him in it. In fact, he was sure there wasn't.

"Have a good time, Story. If you plan on staying the night, send me a Patronus, yeah?"

She leaned up to place a kiss on his cheek. "'Course, big brother. Love you much."

"Love you too, sis."

And then she was gone, and Draco was alone in the very large, very old house once more.

* * *

"Okay, here's the plan," Elizabeth said, her hands flying with excitement. "First, shopping," (Hermione groaned), "then, caffeine, and then dancing. What do you think?"

Hermione let out an overly dramatic sigh for her friend's benefit. She'd already made up her mind to go along with whatever Elizabeth had decided upon, but she needed to at least appear to put up a fight. "Okay, we can go shopping, but I'm only going to be good for an hour, tops." Well, that was true. More than an hour and she'd be unpleasant company.

"An hour?" Elizabeth shrieked, "That's nothing! That's not even enough time to try stuff on."

"An hour. Final offer."

Elizabeth contemplated her options, knowing that Hermione's "final offer" wasn't really all that final; she could always cajole her friend into budging a little bit at least. "An hour of shopping and an hour at the salon."

"And what on earth would we do at the salon?"

"I love you 'Mione, but you need a haircut. Badly." She reached over and grabbed a limp strand of the slightly wavy mess. "You have such pretty hair, not that anyone could tell from the way you treat it. One hour of shopping and an hour at the salon. You'll get a cut, I'll get a pedicure, and we'll both get a manicure. Deal?"

Hermione considered the offer carefully. Yeah, she probably did need a trim. Between the stress of school and her weird magic/health condition, she'd been taking even less care of herself than usual. And she'd bitten her nails so often over the past weeks that they were scary to look at; it wasn't a bad plan.

"Okay, one hour of shopping and one hour at the salon. But you're buying the mochas afterward."

Elizabeth clapped her hands and jumped up and down. It made her look like a highschool girl, but yeah, it was pretty endearing. "Ohhh you will NOT regret this, 'Mione. We are going to have such a fun night. And maybe we'll meet some boys." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Hermione giggled nervously. "Hmmmm, can we hold off on the boys? The last time I went dancing ended up with me on a bed in my knickers and bra trying to explain why I wouldn't have sex with a random. I'd rather not repeat that, thank you very much."

"I'm going to pretend I did not just hear that." Helen Granger appeared in the doorway, holding her hands over her ears.

Elizabeth laughed at the violently dark shade of red that graced Hermione's cheeks. "I think that's a fantastic idea, Mrs. Granger."

"Elizabeth, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Helen?" Both women were doing their best not to look at Hermione, who still looked like she wanted to disappear into thin air. They were failing.

"Just one more, Mrs. Granger." Elizabeth's eyes danced with playfulness. Hermione wasn't sure why her friend couldn't bring herself to use Helen's first name, but it was always 'Mrs. Granger.'

"Well, you girls have a good evening, please do not get yourselves in any semi-naked situations for my sake, and be quiet when you come in, okay? Here's something in case you need to call a cab." She tucked some money into Hermione's bag, ignoring her daughter's protests. "Have fun!"

Elizabeth turned to her friend and smirked. "I'm going to make sure you listen to your mum, Knickers McGee. Come on, let's get out of here."

* * *

After an excruciating hour of shopping, in which Hermione complained more than anyone simply trying on dresses should, they were at the salon enjoying their manicures. Hermione's hair was still wet from her shampoo but was slowly air-drying so the stylist could get a good feel for the natural curl. Although she wouldn't admit it to her friend, Hermione really did like this part of their girls' day. It felt nice to be pampered now and then.

"So how did your grandma like Pride and Prejudice? I can't believe she had never read it before, that's just inconceivable."

Elizabeth laughed long and hard. "Oh, I think she liked it, not that she would ever admit it. She was a big fan of Mr. Darcy."

Hermione smiled, "Who isn't? He's terribly romantic once he stops being a complete idiot."

"Ohhh no, she liked him right from the start. Kept defending his obsession with class status, saying that's how he was raised, he was only acting in a way appropriate to his station, that sort of thing."

"You have to be kidding me! Everyone knows Miss Elizabeth Bennet was more than good enough for him for the very beginning. She's smart, and clever, and well-read, and courageous."

"Oh, I agree. And obviously they found each other in the end, after all. I think they had a lot more in common than either wanted to admit."

Hermione nodded emphatically. "Definitely! They were both too stubborn to admit it, of course."

"Of course. But once they put aside their differences, they were sort of perfect for one another." Elizabeth was silent for a moment. "Hermione, do you believe in soul mates? Like, do you think that there's just one person in the world that you're meant to be with, only one person you'll ever really love?"

"No, I don't think so. I hope not, at least."

"What makes you say that?"

Hermione bit her lip and looked away. She and Elizabeth talked about all sorts of things: books, movies, boys. But neither of them had ever really opened up about their past relationships, other than some vague general comments. It was strange, in a way, but Hermione preferred it. It was painful bringing up the past. Still, they had been friends for more than a year, and she trusted Elizabeth... "I was in love once. It was beautiful, and painful, and confusing at times. I wouldn't take it back, even the bad parts. I learned a lot about myself, and relationships in general. I thought we'd be together forever, but it just... didn't work out. But I hope I get another chance at love."

"With him? The boy you loved?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, not with him. I still care about him, but it's complicated. It can't happen. And it was years ago, so I doubt he even thinks of me any more, at least not like that."

"I'm sure he still thinks of you, 'Mione. You'd be a tough one to forget." Elizabeth wanted to reach over to squeeze her friend's hand, but one was being painted at the moment and the other was drying.

"Thank you for saying that, but I hope he doesn't think of me too much, if at all. I'm out of his life for good now, which I think is best. I just want him to be happy, you know? I want him to find someone who can love him the way that he needs, the way he deserves."

Elizabeth nodded slowly. "And you can't do that?"

Hermione sucked in her lips. She could feel the energy in her body rise with the intensity of the conversation. Desperately she tried to control it, to calm herself. "No. I can't."

"I'm sorry, sweetie, I've upset you. Let's talk about something else, shall we?"

Hermione shook her head, "No, it's not you. I should probably talk about it more often, to be honest. I'm over him, I think. No, I'm sure of it. But it's just that he was my friend too, you know? And I miss him. Not in that romantic way, but as a friend. I just really, really miss him."

"Maybe you should try to reconnect with him, then. Call him, maybe, or write him? Nothing big, just reach out to show that you still want to be a part of his life. It could be good for you, healing and all."

"No, it's better this way." It was. Wasn't it? It was simpler, at least, to ignore the fact that Ron Weasley existed. That Harry Potter existed. Her boys. Shit, she could feel the panic setting in. Maybe if she changed the conversation, focused on Elizabeth. "So tell me more about your grandmother's support of pompous and out-dated classist ideals."

* * *

"Shhhhhh! 'Mione, you're going to get us in trouble." Elizabeth giggled she grabbed a hold of Hermione, just barely rescuing the girl from bumping into a stack of books balanced precariously on the edge of her desk.

"No, you're going to get us into trouble." Hermione couldn't stop laughing and repeating everything Elizabeth said. Her best lines so far: 'No, you're drunk and disorderly,' and 'No, you find the house key in my purse.' Elizabeth was finding out very quickly that after two Cosmopolitans and one Long Island ice tea, Hermione made a goofy and slightly annoying drunk. Again she mentally slapped herself for letting her friend drink so much; still, it was nice to see the bookish girl relax and let loose. They had gone to a gay club in Vauxhall as to avoid any potential knicker-less situations. And it had been an incredibly fun night until Hermione had fallen right off the barstool and bruised her tailbone. Elizabeth giggled as she recalled her friend's incredulous look, her feet straight up in the air.

Guess some gents had seen her knickers after all.

"Okay, sweetie, let's get you in some pajamas okay? Where do you keep your pjs?"

"Where do you keep your pjs?" Hermione's exaggerated whisper quickly grew louder as she started to laugh once more.

Elizabeth just shook her head. This was not working well. She gave up on getting any real information out of her friend and resorted to opening and closing dresser drawers. Ah, there! That would work.

Hermione managed to put on her nightclothes almost completely by herself, which was impressive, given her state. She had been singing softly to herself while she changed, although Elizabeth was pretty sure she was unaware of it the whole time.

"'Mione, are you absolutely sure you don't need to puke? You're going to be pissed if you throw up in bed, I promise you."

"No, no, no no no no I'm okay, I told you. M'fine. Tell everyone m'fine, okay? They keep asking. M'okay. M'okay. Just some energy, but m'okay. I danced it off. No more energy. Has to go somewhere, right? Right." She nodded emphatically after answering her own question. "Mare says it has to go somewhere or bad stuff will happen. But I have been running and I have been dancing so the energy is good. S'gone. S'fine." She crawled onto the bed and collapsed on top of the covers. "S'fine, tell them m'fine."

"Okay, Bookworm," Elizabeth whispered, "If you say so." She laid down in the bed but kept watch over her friend, just in case. Hermione really would be upset if she woke up in her own vomit.

* * *

"HERMIONE! Please, Hermione, wake up. Wake up, PLEASE! Hermione!" Elizabeth didn't care if the neighbors down the street heard, she screamed Hermione's name at the top of her lungs. She didn't dare touch the girl; currents of what looked to be blue and red electricity flew off the girl. The air around her was thick with energy and magic.

The bedroom door flew open and Helen and Patrick raced into the room, stopping suddenly at the sight of their daughter. It was obvious she was in the middle of what looked to be not only a nightmare but a full-blown panic attack. Her body thrashed about, she shook uncontrollably and tears fell from her shut eyes down her sweaty cheeks. Now and then whimpering escaped her lips, along with mumbled words. And then there was the dangerous light-show encapsulating her body.

"What happened?" That was Patrick. Elizabeth didn't know what to say, couldn't take her eyes off the girl in front of her. What on earth was this?

"She... I don't know. I woke up and she was talking in her sleep, and then it started to get really bad. I didn't know what to do to help her. I've never seen anything like this."

Helen and Patrick shared a knowing look. Of course Elizabeth hadn't seen anything like this. Hermione was a witch, one who was obviously suffering some very mystical ailment at the moment.

Elizabeth shook out her hands and breathed in deeply before she approached Hermione, ignoring the Granger's warnings. Just before she touched her friend, she met their eyes. "Helen, Patrick...I'll take care of her, I promise. I will keep her safe." And then her hand was wrapped around Hermione's, and she spun in time and space, and they both were gone.

* * *

Draco heard the front door one floor up open and slam shut. The Weasel and Harry were both on Auror assignment in Ireland, and it was too late for Neville to stop by unannounced. Draco made his way to the staircase and walked slowly up, careful not to spill his tea. "Story, I thought you said you were staying at the castle tonight. Changed your mind?" He reached the top of the landing and surveyed the scene in front of him. The teacup dropped and shattered as he ran to his fallen best friend's side. Her hair looked different, and her face was streaked with tears, but all he saw was her pain and fear.

He stooped down next to her and grabbed for her face, looking for answers or clues therein. "Astoria, what is it? What happened? Are you hurt?" Astoria was silent, except for the sound of her muffled sobs.

Draco slowly reached forward to touch the unconscious girl in her arms. He brushed the wet curl away from the stranger's face and drew in a shaky breath at the sudden recognition that coursed through his body. Hermione Granger.

"Oh my gods, Story, what have you done?"


	39. Home

"Story, what happened? Is she breathing?"

No response. Astoria's eyes were vacant, her lips parted slightly. A low, haunting whine escaped her body. Draco grabbed a hold of her shoulders and shook her gently. "Astoria, come on! Wake the fuck up and tell me what happened!" He roughly thrust her arms away from Granger. That got her attention.

"No..." she mumbled, "Have to keep her safe. Promised."

"Well she certainly doesn't seem safe." He leaned close to the unconscious girl and felt for a pulse. It was there. She was breathing too, upon further inspection; measured breaths that tickled his ear. He felt an incredible sense of relief at the knowledge that she alive, at least.

He focused his attention back to the no-longer-blonde-at-the-moment girl and barked a question. "What the hell is going on here? Why are you with Granger? What happened?"

"I..." she faltered. "She was having a nightmare, or a panic attack or something, and there was energy, or magic, or something flying off of her. She was in pain, and she wouldn't wake up. I didn't know what to do. I brought her here. I thought... I forgot that Harry was gone. We need to get her help now, Draco. We have to. I promised her mum and dad that I'd make sure she was okay."

Draco just stared, dumbfounded. She had answered one of his questions alright, but he still felt completely in the dark. There would be time for answers later, however; right now he needed Harry to get back home as soon as possible. A Healer, he thought, would be needed as well. But he couldn't leave the house to take Granger to St. Mungo's, and Astoria wasn't making a lot of sense. That and his dear friend was still on the floor, and didn't seem to have any real plans to change position any time soon. She was hunched over Granger, softly stroking her hair. The gesture struck Draco as wrong; who was Hermione to Astoria, anyway? It was far too intimate a touch for strangers. He looked away from the two young women and towards the fireplace.

"Listen, Story, I need you to contact Harry. I don't know exactly where he is right now; I think he was outside of Dublin, but that's all I know. So I need you to send him a Patronus telling him he needs to come home right away. Don't tell him what happened, I don't want it to throw him off. If he ends up splinching himself that will definitely not be good for either of us. In fact, don't mention Granger at all. Just tell him to get here now. I'm going to take Granger upstairs and see if I can find any books to help us figure out what's going on here."

"She said something..." Astoria started and then paused. What was it she had said? Hermione had been drunk and half asleep, but the words had struck the Slytherin as odd. Like it was something she wasn't supposed to have said aloud. "She was mumbling about energy, that it has to go somewhere. But she said she danced it off or something, so she was fine." She bit her lip, trying to remember. "The energy had to go somewhere or bad things would happen. Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's what she said."

"Pretty sure or completely sure?" Draco eyed his best friend carefully. He needed to know exactly what Granger had said.

Astoria looked at her hands, thinking. "I'm trying... yeah. I'm sure. She said that it had to go somewhere or bad things would happen, but that she had been running and dancing and so the energy was gone. It was fine." She looked back up into Draco's eyes, and he saw the tears swimming in the green-blue. "We have to help her. She has to be okay, Draco."

"Contact Harry and get him here NOW. I've got Granger." After that talk about energy and magic sparks or whateverthehell apparently flying off the girl, he didn't want to risk using magic on the Gryffindor. If she was under some sort of curse, any spell, no matter how innocuous, could have a nasty interaction. He knelt down and put one hand under her knees and one around her back and he brought her into his arms. Slowly he climbed the stairs, not stopping until he got to the attic. Once there, he placed her on the small twin bed and pulled up a chair. With the utmost concentration he scanned her body with his eyes; her breaths were mostly measured, although now and then she'd moan or gasp. He could see the pulse in her carotid; it seemed to be holding steady. For all the world it appeared she was simply sleeping, albeit fitfully.

He leaned closer to her and touched a hand to her forehead like he had seen done so many times on television shows. She felt warm to the touch, but not hot. He assumed that was normal.

With a sigh he made his way to the nearest bookcase and began picking and choosing the volumes which would offer the best possible help. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

He was halfway through a chapter on magical maladies that resulted in unconscious states when he heard the door open. Astoria's head poked in; her hair was back to her natural blonde now. She slowly padded across the room, still in her pajamas, and conjured a chair to settle beside Draco. "Any change?"

He shook his head. "Story..." She just looked at him, a guilty-puppy-dog expression on her face. He hated seeing her so subdued, but he was angry. Maybe that was the wrong word. Worried? Cautious? Bewildered?

All of the above.

"Harry on his way?" She nodded.

Well, if she wasn't going to start talking... It was up to him, he guessed."What the hell happened, Astoria? When did this start? How did it happen? And for that matter... why?"

She bit her lip and looked away. "Well, which question shall I answer first?"

He sighed. "Start at the beginning, I suppose, but make it fast. Once Potter gets here the shit is going to hit the proverbial fan."

"It started a year ago, give or take a few weeks." She stopped to look at him when she heard the strangled gasp leave his body. "Yeah. I know." She looked away from him and back at Hermione, laid out on the bed. "I was angry. I mean, after finding out what really happened to Theo, I kept thinking, 'If Hermione was as smart as everyone keeps saying, why didn't she know? How could she not tell he was under the Imperius curse?' And then there was Harry and Ron, both so upset that she had left. At least with Harry, he was just sad, but Ron... Merlin, he was so furious, and it scared me. You remember how he used to be, when he wouldn't even look at me?" Draco nodded; he did remember. It was part of the reason he still had a hard time trusting the Gryffindor with Astoria.

"Well, I wanted to understand. If Hermione was missed this greatly, with that sort of ferocity, than I knew she couldn't be the monster I had envisioned in my mind. And I needed to try to forgive her if I was going to move past Theo's death. For such a long time, all I felt was grief and anger, and it was killing me. It was constant, you know? I felt like I was being slowly poisoned by it. And that on top of school, and the other kids hating me..." She waved the comment off like it was something trivial, but Draco saw the pain in her eyes.

"Anyway. So I asked Harry a few questions, went through his mail," Draco blinked and raised an eyebrow. "Oh come off it, Draco, I'm still a Slytherin. Whatever, so I went through his mail and I got her address. Harry had mentioned she worked at a bookstore, so I investigated a little bit, called some shops within a half hour of her parents' place. I knew she had seen a glimpse of me when she did the whole mind-meld thing with Theo, so I disguised myself so I could go about spying on her. I thought, if I just saw she was a normal girl... Anyway, I walked into her shop and when I saw her... I could tell she wasn't the killer I had created in my imagination. I watched her for over a half hour, just wandering the aisles. Eventually I went up to her and asked some questions, got some suggestions on books... and gods, she was so damn nice. It almost pissed me off, but it was hard to be sore at someone who looked like she had just won a million bucks, just because she had someone to talk to, you know? I introduced myself by my middle name, Elizabeth, so I wouldn't forget it. And I was so damn curious about her that I actually invited her to dinner, which was sort of insane, looking back. But I got to meet this girl that I had been so afraid of. Because I think that's what it really was, fear." She reached forward and fingered one of Hermione's curls.

She continued to speak, quieter now, her voice straining with emotion. "I was afraid to be in this house, where Theo had died. I was afraid that Ron and Harry were secretly happy that Theo was gone, afraid that they could only see him a Death Eater, and me as some Death Eater's girlfriend. I was afraid that they loved Hermione so much that they would never accept me, and I didn't know how long I'd have to be around them. But when I met Hermione..." She bit her lip and blinked back a tear, "I got it. I totally got that she was a fantastic person, and that Ron and Harry just missed this amazing friend that had been with them for so long. And I understood how Ron could be in love with her, even after what happened. I mean, she's not perfect, far from it... she can be SO stubborn, and sometimes I just wish that she'd relax a little bit more and enjoy life... but she's smart, and she's funny in her own way, you know? And she really cares about her friends. So I stuck around. I made up a story about a grandmother who lived nearby and I bought books and we hung out as often as I could really get away without anyone getting suspicious. Before long, I counted her as one of my closest friends. And even if she didn't know who I really was, or even my real name... it was one of the most honest friendships I've ever had. She wasn't nice to me because I'm a pureblood, or because she knew my sister or my parents. She didn't care about my magic, or how much money my family had; she just cared about me, you know? Because we were friends. So I kept going back to see her. She's been looking sick for a few months, but I thought it was just some sort of Muggle flu she couldn't shake or whatever. She was always popping vitamins and drinking coffee, just to get through the day. But last night, when she said the thing about the energy, well, that was strange. Then this happened," she gestured towards Hermione's unconscious body, "and I freaked. I Apparated in front of her parents; Merlin, they must be so worried! They had no idea I was a witch and then BAM! I'm gone, and so is Hermione. But I did promise them, you know, that I would take care of her. And I intend to keep that promise."

Draco was stunned. All of this had been happening under his nose, and for a year. He'd had no clue, none at all. He knew that Astoria had been getting more and more comfortable with the Muggle world, but he had supposed it to be a reaction to the judgment she felt in the magical world. Never in a million years would he have suspected that she was spending her free time palling around with a Muggle girl, and that that girl was GRANGER... who wasn't really a Muggle at all. Shit, this was giving him a headache.

The door behind them both creaked open, and Harry walked into the room.

Draco cleared his throat. "How much did you hear?"

The Gryffindor's green eyes blazed, but his voice was calm as he replied, "Not long. But I think I got the main points. I assume she's not in critical condition, since she's still here and not at hospital."

Draco nodded. "Her vitals are normal now, but Story said she suffered some sort of panic attack just an hour or so ago, and that she's not in control of her magic."

Harry turned to Astoria, and his voice was dangerously low. "How long has it been," he asked, "since she's used magic?"

"I... I dunno. I never saw her use magic, not even covertly. And there's nothing in her bedroom that would be out of place in any normal Muggle room. If I had to guess... it's been a long time."

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and readjusted his glasses. "And her parents, they saw you take her?"

Astoria nodded. "I know they must be worried, Harry, but they trust me. They know me. Or at least, they know Elizabeth."

He laughed bitterly. "They know a girl who they just found out to be a witch, and they've probably heard plenty about the dangers in our world. Do you think Hermione decided to become a Muggle because she was bored? No," he hissed, "she was scared. Fucking terrified. And I'm sure her parents feel the exact same way right now." He paced the length of the small room and gripped his hair. "We have to go back to them, you and me. We'll explain what's happened; they trust me, I know they do. Hermione told me that she reads them my letters sometimes, so they know we're still in contact, at least occasionally. We'll explain what happened, we'll bring them here if we have to; but you're coming with me, Astoria, and you need to look the same way you did when you left. And I swear to Salazar, if anything happens to her... You KNEW she was sick, you knew something was wrong and you didn't tell us. I'm just..." he swore, "I'm just so... fuck. I'm hurt. She's my best friend, and she was in trouble, and neither of you let me know." He crossed the room and knelt next to his friend, elbowing the two Slytherins out of the way. "Why wouldn't you tell me?" he whispered to the sleeping girl, "Why wouldn't you let me help you, Bookworm?"

"Harry," Draco spoke softly, "You need to go find her parents. I'll keep watch over her. I swear, if she takes a turn for the worst, I'll send a Patronus immediately. But you need to go; who knows what state they're in right now?"

Harry sighed. "Yeah, alright. I left Ron and Corner hot on the trail of a wannabe dark wizard. Told Ron I'd let him know if we needed him back here, but..." he stared at Hermione and continued to make a mess of his already disheveled hair, "I don't think he could stand to see her like this." Astoria's bright eyes grew dim at his words, and Draco saw the pain therein. Silently Harry held out an arm to Astoria, and with a pop, they were gone.

"Liz-beth?" Hermione mumbled, turning over on the bed towards the sound. "M'fine."

"Granger?" Draco whispered, leaning closer to the girl. She didn't respond, but her breathing seemed calmer and deeper now. He grabbed for the nearest book and uttered the spell that would allow him to search for a spell based on a keyword. Harry had taught him the spell a year ago, and he had also mentioned that Granger was actually the one who invented it. Draco only hoped it would work now.

The pages flew past and the book opened to page 253, not far from where he had started to read. After hearing more and more about Hermione's earlier symptoms, he knew for sure that she had been neglecting her magic for at least a year. He had a hunch it was longer, but he hoped for her sake that he was wrong. According to the book, forsaking one's magical core for longer than a year could prove incredibly dangerous; some witches and wizards had gone insane, and they were the lucky ones. Others had accidentally killed themselves or their families; one wizard had brought an entire village down with him. He had somehow managed to conjure an earthquake that brought destruction to his small island. There were only three survivors.

Draco learned that those witches and wizards who were not told of their magical side did not seem to feel the affects so strongly. Of course, breakthrough magic still occurred, but as they had not truly engaged and trained their magical side, it remained somewhat weak compared to a full witch or wizard. Draco knew how powerful Hermione had grown during the war, so it was a small miracle that she hadn't hurt or killed herself or her loved ones.

He continued to read and found that simply being in proximity to magic could reduce the chaotic energy in a suffering witch or wizard. He supposed that could account for the fact that Hermione had not been shooting off energy when she arrived at Grimmauld Place. Perhaps that's what caused her to speak when Harry and Astoria had Apparated away.

He supposed that he could try a small bit of magic on the other side of the room, see if Granger would respond to that. The girl seemed to be serene enough as it were. He stood in the far corner and raised his wand. "Lumos," he whispered. The tip of his wand lit up, and past the small point of light he saw Granger yawn and rub her eyes. She was still asleep, which was fine; he didn't want her to wake anyways. The thought of a strong, bullheaded Gryffindor waking up in a strange room with an old enemy seemed like a particularly terrible idea. Still, even from here he could see the color returning to her cheeks. He cautiously walked closer until he was sitting next to her bed once more. "Nox," he whispered, and the light extinguished. A soft groan emerged from Granger's lips, and he immediately whispered another incantation. It was a simple charm, one that produced a quiet melody. It wasn't anything elaborate or fancy, but he liked the song. He watched as a soft smile stretched across Granger's lips, and he felt a tightness in his chest as he watched her sleeping, breathing quietly. Without realizing it, his hand had stretched across the bed and settled upon a lock of her hair. It was shorter than he had ever seen it, and even though it was mussed up and smelled faintly of booze and smoke, he couldn't help but think she looked completely lovely, even like this.

He shook his head, trying to banish the ridiculous thought. This was Granger; she hated him, and more than that, he had never really liked her all that much either. True, he didn't know her, not really, as he had explained to Harry not long ago. And yeah, she was sort of beautiful in her own way, all amber eyes and wavy hair. Really, beautiful, actually.

Shit.

'Get a grip, Draco. You haven't been around a girl who wasn't a Weasley (in some fashion or another) in a long, long time. Except Story, but she doesn't count. That's all this is. Just desperation.' He breathed deeply, trying to hold onto the simple logic.

Then another voice, quieter, but more insistent. 'Ahhh, but you've been reading her books, looking through her things, living with her friends. You've been far too curious about her for far too long. No use denying it now that she's here.'

He stood up and paced the room. The voices in his head were arguing with each other, and wasn't that an obvious sign of psychosis?

A pop sounded from somewhere else in the house, and then the roar of the hearth coming to life. He heard several sets of footsteps on the staircase. Story was first through the door, and behind her, Harry. Two middle-aged adults followed, and he immediately knew they were the Grangers. Even if it wasn't blatantly obvious by looking at them that Hermione was their daughter, the concern that radiated from them pointed only to the fact they were her parents.

He ended up the charm and stood awkwardly. He spoke to no one and everyone at the same time. "She's doing better; I found out that she responds well to the presence of magic, even if she's not the one doing the spells. I didn't want to accidentally wake her by attempting anything powerful, but little spells seem to calm her. She spoke once, and she's been smiling and sighing off and on. So if one of you could sit by her and keep doing magic... well I think that would help." He was about to make his way out of the room when Mrs. Granger reached for his shoulder.

"Thank you," she croaked, her eyes shiny with unspent tears.

"Of course, Mrs. Granger." He ducked his head and was about to leave when she called after him, "I'm sorry, dear, I didn't catch your name?"

"It's Draco Malfoy, ma'am," he replied, his voice hesitant. The shock in her eyes told him everything he already knew; she had heard his name before, and not for any good reason. Without looking back he strode out the door, down the steps, and into his bedroom. With the door closed and locked for good measure, he slid down the wall, his head collapsing onto his crossed arms.

He closed his eyes, but all he saw was wavy hair and soft skin and smudged eyeliner.

Shit.


	40. Heard

"How is she?"

Astoria turned around at the sound of her friend's voice. "About the same," she shrugged. "Still asleep, but Harry said that's not unusual given how weak she was."

Draco nodded. "Yeah, that's pretty much what the books say, too. I guess she'll just wake when she's ready." He lowered himself into the second chair and passed Astoria a cup of tea. Both sat and sipped their beverage as they watched the unconscious Gyffindor.

She fiddled with the mug, a long slim finger making rings around the edge. "Just have at it already."

"What's that?"

"The lecture. The yelling or whatever. Just get it over with so I can breathe around you again. Because I can't stand the quiet disappointment, okay? Just say the words and get it out there."

He cleared his throat and smiled awkwardly. "I don't think I'm really the one to judge you, Story. Yeah, it was sneaky, maybe wrong, but I get it. You were lonely, and you wanted answers. And maybe it got out of hand or whatever, but I get it." He sipped his tea, wincing at the bitter taste. Definitely needed more sugar. "At least I think I get it. Either way, you won't be getting a lecture from me, not about this."

"That's it?" She stood suddenly and raised her hands above her head. "That's IT? Seriously, Draco? What about how stupid it was to play Muggle like that? What about how wrong it was to mess with Hermione, to lie to you and Harry and Ron? How about how awful I must be to go after the ex-lover of my closest female friend?" She pointed to the girl in the bed. "She doesn't even know my real name. I lied to her over and over again, pretending to be someone I wasn't. I made up a fucking grandmother, Draco. Lie after lie after lie, and I called it friendship. She'll never forgive me. Ron will never forgive me, and he shouldn't. Because what I did? It's despicable. I can give excuses about loneliness or being brokenhearted or whatever, or that it wasn't just for me, it was for her too, but it's all bullshit, and we both know it. Say it. Tell me I'm rubbish. Tell me I'm a bad person. A bad friend." Her hands reached out and pushed at his chest defiantly, daring him to disagree.

Draco simply shook his head and frowned. "I'm not going to do that, Story."

"Well you should," she hissed, turning on her foot and marching out of the room.

Draco jumped at the sound of the slamming door, but Hermione didn't even stir. She really was out for the count.

He looked around the room, unsure of what to do. Harry had gone back to Ireland just an hour beforehand; it had taken a fair amount of arguing to get him to go, but Ron and Michael Corner were still on the trail of the evil wizard, and they needed as much help as they could get. Draco promised he'd contact Harry if Hermione's condition changed, but even then, the Gryffindor left with a head full of doubt.

Astoria had been by Hermione's side off and on during the night and throughout the morning; Harry had preformed magic by Hermione's bedside for most of the night, although Astoria had taken over occasionally. Now they were both gone, and judging from the size of Astoria's meltdown, he knew she would need time to process.

So it was up to him. He looked down at the woman lying before him and wondered who she was. He recognized her, of course, but there were noticeable differences. Her hair was changed, for one; it was shorter and cut into various layers. She had lost some of the softness around her edges, particularly around her face. He wondered if it was a result of stress and weakness, or if she had subjected herself to some crazy Muggle diet. He watched enough television to see the lengths some women would go to in order to look skeletal. He didn't like it, the painful angles her bones made, or the thought of her denying herself decent food in order to look like this.

Her hair was matted and stringy, which made sense, as it had been damp with sweat when she had arrived the night before. And yeah, she still smelled a bit like old booze, which wasn't entirely pleasant. He raised his wand, and then hesitated. He really, really didn't want to wake her. Hermione Granger waking up in a strange room to Draco Malfoy... well, it wasn't a good idea. But if it had been him... well, he would have appreciated someone taking the time to make him look more presentable. It was settled. His wand pointed at her hair and he whispered, "Scourify." She didn't respond in the slightest, so he repeated the incantation and moved his wand about her frame, knowing that it wasn't as good as a shower, but it was something. The smell of alochol left her, and the dark mascara lines on her face faded; he could just make out the light freckles splashed across her nose.

Better.

What now? He looked around the room and his eyes landed on the bookcase. Well, it was better than nothing. He took his time perusing the shelf, and when he glanced at that ridiculous book, "Pride and Prejudice," he snickered. Of course. He had guessed the random new books were from Astoria, but he had never really wondered what influenced her choices. Now he knew; it was Granger, picking out books for Elizabeth's poor grandmum. "Pride and Prejudice" all of a sudden made a lot more sense.

"Alright Granger," he spoke, "I'm only doing this because you're currently unconscious. No one else hears about it, got me?" She didn't respond, of course, and he was happy about that.

He levitated the book in front of his nose and used his wand to flip to the first page. He cleared his throat awkwardly and snickered. Shit, he really must be going barmy. Whatever. It was a fairly decent story, and he didn't have anything better to do.

"'It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife...'"

* * *

His vocal chords were officially sore, and Astoria still hadn't come back. Draco was actually worried about her; what if she did something stupid, like run away? He knew it was a silly thought, but he was concerned; he hadn't heard as much as peep in almost four hours.

He sighed and rubbed his temples. A small flick of his hand and the book closed and settled upon the bedside table. He looked down at Granger; he couldn't just leave her like this. She needed to be close to magic, and he didn't feel comfortable just walking out. He snapped his fingers; it was so obvious. The fact that he hadn't thought of it earlier was a bit disconcerting, but whatever.

"Expecto Patronum!" The large, silvery bird erupted from his wand and flew in calm, soundless circles above Hermione's head. That would do.

"Astoria?" No answer. Her door was closed, however, and that usually meant she was upset, or lonely, or sad, or something like that. He knocked twice but there was still no answer, not even the slightest echo of his hand hitting the wood. She'd cast a silencing spell, that much was obvious. He turned the doorknob but it wouldn't budge. Well, he knew how to open doors, with or without magic. Two simple spells and the lock clicked open. The silencing spell still hung safe and sound, so Story didn't hear him enter the room. Her shoulders shook silently and she had collapsed upon herself. Damn, it hurt to see her like this. He hadn't seen her this upset since Theo, right at the beginning, right when she found out that he was gone. His hands clenched into fists and he crossed the room, kneeling behind her on the bed. He wrapped his long legs around her body, pulling her back towards him. When he had enfolded himself around her, he hugged her fiercely; a full-body hug from which she could not escape. He wouldn't let her hurt like this, he decided: she was too good, too pure to go through this sort of pain twice. It might just kill her this time.

Her sobs shook his body as well as her own, and he risked moving one arm to smooth through her long blonde hair. He couldn't hear her cries, but he damn well felt them. Every single one stabbed at him, and he wished that he could somehow absorb the pain and guilt she felt. "Shhhh..." he whispered, hoping to calm her, and then he realized she couldn't hear him. Instead he kissed the crown of her head tenderly. He felt some of the tension leave her body, and she moved to turn around in his arms.

He saw her lips moving but couldn't hear a thing. Raising an eyebrow, he pretended to speak back at her, making annoyingly exaggerated words with his mouth. She laughed despite herself and smacked his shoulder, and then she removed the charm.

"I can't believe how much I messed this all up, Draco."

He pulled her back into a quick hug and then held her at arm's length. "First of all, Story, you have no idea how either Granger or the Weasel will respond, so all of this crying and beating yourself up? It's sort of ridiculous. And secondly, you keep acting as if you did this incredibly awful thing. Yeah, it was underhanded, and self-serving in some ways, and you were sort of lying your way through the last year or so... but you're a Snake, so I'm not sure what else they expected." He leaned closer and touched his forehead to hers. "It's just a part of who we are, love. But you weren't being malicious, were you?" She didn't respond, just bit down on her lip. "You genuinely care about Granger, and you were a true friend to her when, I'm guessing, she needed one. She didn't have the rest of the bloody Golden Trio around, did she? But you, you were there for her. Weren't you." It wasn't a question, but Astoria shrugged anyway. "I guess."

"Well, I can understand if they get a little upset, because they're Gryffindors, so being prats is sort of part and parcel for them. But if they don't understand that your intentions were ultimately pure, than they're just idiots. Understand?"

She nodded slowly and hugged her best friend tightly once more. He wasn't sure he believed her, but at least she had acknowledged she wasn't some great evil mastermind that went out hurting people for fun. And for now, that would have to do.

"Shit," he grimaced, leaning back on his hands.

"What is it?" Astoria's eyes were instantly filled with worry. Yeah, definitely an evil mastermind.

"I think Granger's waking up." He sat completely still and concentrated on the curious feedback his patronus was sending him from the attic. "Yeah, she's definitely waking up. Quick, you need to change your hair back and get up there. She needs to see you when she opens her eyes."

Astoria immediately protested but Draco squashed her objections with a raised finger and a stern look. "I know this is the part that sucks, love, but you need to face it head on. She's going to wake up in a strange room, not knowing how she got there, and she's going to be confused. Scared, even, if she's got any wits about her. It's not fun, but she's sort of your responsibility, especially in a house emptied of all Gryffindors. So get your arse up there." She began to move very slowly towards the door and he smacked at her butt. "Mush, woman. She'll be completely awake any second." She scurried out the door and up the stairs.

Draco fell back on the bed, hands over his face. He truly hoped that Granger was a good enough friend that she understood the importance of forgiveness, for all their sakes.

* * *

"Liz-beth?" Hermione groaned, throwing an arm over her face to block the light. She was deeply regretting the alcohol that had seemed like such a keen idea last night; she felt like perfect hell this morning. Her limbs were weighed down and her head was spinning viciously. She attempted to raise herself up from the mattress but quickly realized what a poor idea that was. Her eyes clamped tightly shut in an effort to keep out any stray beam of light, she felt around for her watch. It had to be late morning; there was no way she'd be up at a normal time given last night's events.

A voice from the other side of the room alerted her to her friend's presence. "M'here, 'Mione. You're fine, just try to relax, okay?"

"Unnngh." It wasn't really a word as much as a complaint about anything and everything at once. "I hurt. All of me. Even my eyebrows hurt; how is that possible?"

Hermione heard Elizabeth laughing quietly. "I dunno, but I believe you."

Hermione turned over in the bed towards her friend's voice. Curling up in a fetal position, she placed a pillow over her head. A muffled voice came from below. "Why did you let me drink so much?"

Her friend laughed for real now. "Let you? LET you? You've got to be joking. I tried to talk you out of it again and again, but no, you had to try to keep up with the giant drag queen. He could have kept up with the shots all night, long before you were passed out, or worse."

"SHE," Hermione argued from beneath the pillow, "wasn't as tough as she seemed. She would have let me win if we kept going. Damn stool got all wobbly; s'not fair."

"What's not fair was that her heels were cuter than 90% of mine, and they were at least 100 pounds more expensive. Pretty, pretty, pricey pumps." She sighed.

Hermione removed the pillow, smiling and looking at her friend for the first time. "Cute, yes, but I think they would be too big on you, my dear." She noticed the strange room for the first time and her brow wrinkled. "Ummmm... where are we? Did we go back to your place?"

"Umm, yeah. Sort of. I mean, I live here." Hermione watched her friend's teeth worry her lip and she grew more and more confused. Elizabeth lived two hours away; had they really taken a cab that far? If so, that was a very expensive drunk decision.

"Hermione, I have to tell you something."

Hermione looked into her friend's dark brown eyes and nodded. "Yeah, of course, what's wrong?" Her face fell suddenly. "Oh god, did I puke on something?" Elizabeth shook her head. "Someone?" Elizabeth shook her head again. "Then what is it?"

She studied her friend's nervous gestures, bewildered at what could have caused her such distress over night. "Seriously, just spit it out. Rip off the bandage quickly, it's easier. What's wrong?"

"I lied to you."

Hermione visibly paled. "Oh god, I did puke on someone. Who was it? Maya?"

Elizabeth looked confounded. "Who?"

"Maya! Maya Goodies, the drag queen. I did, didn't I? I fell on the floor and puked on her shoes. I am never drinking again."

"No! No, nothing like that. Except for the falling part."

Hermione breathed an audible sound of relief. "Good, okay. So what did you lie about? Can't be that terrible."

The other girl looked like she was going to be sick. "It is," she whispered. "It's terrible. Elizabeth isn't my real name." Not-Elizabeth's tone of voice warned Hermione not to interrupt. "And this isn't just my house." She drew in a shaky breath. "We were at your house, and I got you into bed and asleep safe and sound, but then you were thrashing and screaming. I think you had a panic attack in your sleep, or something. And before you fell asleep? You had been talking about energy," she explained, "how it needed to find a way out. I heard you yelling in your sleep, but no matter what I tried to do, you wouldn't wake up." She was picking at her fingernails now, the cuticle on her left index red and just beginning to bleed. "There was stuff flying off of you, energy, or magic. And your parents couldn't help, obviously, so I did the only think I could think of; I brought you here, to see Harry."

Hermione's face was completely blank as she tried to decipher the words. It must be some sort of code, or maybe just a really strange practical joke.

Elizabeth continued. "You've been here for almost two days now. Harry was here, but he had to leave; Auror stuff." No response. "The reason you got so sick was that you weren't using your magic, 'Mione. You can ignore it, but it won't go away. You must be pretty powerful still, or it would have most likely killed you by now."

Hermione's whiskey-colored eyes were dark, hard marbles now, and her hands were clenched. "Who are you?"

"Astoria Elizabeth Greengrass," Elizabeth/Astoria responded. Before Hermione could start her raging, words rushed out Astoria's mouth. "You need to be in the presence of magic if you're unwilling to do it yourself. It'll keep you healthy, make you feel better. That may be why you were feeling alright yesterday, despite how weak you truly were. You were around me, and this glamor is harder than it looks."

Hermione looked around the room in disbelief. "And this? This is Grimmauld Place?" The shape of the room was familiar, as was the placement of the windows, but that was about it.

Astoria nodded. "Just let me explain why I did what I did, please."

Unable to move from the bed, and so tired from the sudden revelation, Hermione lowered herself back onto the mattress and turned away from the now-suddenly-blonde girl.

"Hermione, please try to understand, I had to help you. I know you don't want to be back here, in Grimmauld or the wizarding world, but it's just temporary, okay? Just until you feel like yourself again."

Hermione pulled the covers above her head and attempted to burrow down into the mattress. Even in the fetal position, she felt exposed.

"Please, Hermione, please forgive me, I'm so sorry. I just wanted to meet you," she whispered. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. It just sort of... happened."

Hermione ripped the blankets off of her head and fixed her gaze just a foot to the left of Astoria. "Car accidents just happen. Unwelcome weather on a walk to work just happens. But this? This doesn't just happen. Lying to your best friend like this, pretending to be someone you're not? That takes planning, and subterfuge, and cruelty." She pulled the covers back over her head and turned away once more.

Astoria choked back a sob; it was just as she had pictured. Her hand was on the door when she heard the Gryffindor speak one more time. "Eliz... Astoria. Send in Harry when he's back."

"Okay."

The room was silent once more, the only sounds coming from the frenetic breathing of a very hurt, very confused young woman.


	41. Huh?

She had tried to stay awake, but it didn't work; even though she'd been asleep for almost two days straight, she was just so weary. Even keeping her eyes opened seemed difficult after an hour of being awake. She was far away in dreamland when the door creaked open, so she wasn't aware of him until he was next to her, softly stroking her hair.

She forced her eyelids to open and stared up into the familiar bottle green eyes.

"Harry."

That was it, just that word, that acknowledgment that she still knew him, still loved him. He could hear it in her voice, it was plain as day. He simultaneously reached down to draw her into a hug and settled beside her, maneuvering her halfway into his lap. She allowed her body, sore as it was, to be pulled and squeezed and held, mostly because she couldn't do much else. Still, it felt good to be near her best friend once more. Hell, it felt better than good; it was brilliant. She found such comfort in these well-known arms, drew peace from his uniquely Harry scent.

"Oh Bookworm, I'm so glad you're okay."

She shrugged awkwardly in his arms, not sure of what to say. "I wouldn't say that, not yet."

He pulled away, his emerald eyes serious. "No, I suppose not." He looked at her, really looked, and she shrunk under the intensity of his gaze. "I'd take it back, if I could. If I could go back, I wouldn't ask it of you."

Shit. This had gotten incredibly serious in a very short amount of time. But she knew what he meant without any specifics. There was no going back, though, no changing the past. What had happened had happened, and it made no sense to wish it away now.

She put on a smile, although it was painfully false. "The past is past. Let's talk about the present, shall we? For instance... I'm at your house."

He smiled. "Yep."

"And how long will I be here, exactly?"

He frowned. "Until you're better, or until you use magic, whichever comes first," he answered, a bit hurt.

She sighed. "It's... it's not that I don't want to be around you, you know? It's just..."

"Well if you want to be around me you have a very funny way of showing it." The words popped out before he could censor them. But hell, it had been two years since he'd seen her, and she was already anxious to leave again. And now that she was here, in his house, he wanted to hold onto her. "Is it really that bad being back here, Bookworm? You don't have to do magic, but you're sick, that much is obvious. I spoke with a Healer and she said that if you refuse to do magic, it could take months before you start to feel better. Even longer before you are completely healthy again."

She grimaced. "That's a long time. It's just... I mean, I have school, and my parents, and..."

His exasperated sigh stopped her. "And a hell of a lot of excuses, yeah, I get that. Except that, according to Story, your grades are for shit this term, and your parents are more than happy to keep you here as long as necessary, given that it's keeping you from dying." He spit the words out like they were venom.

"Story?"

"Astoria. Elizabeth. The girl who saved your life, the one you won't talk to? She's downstairs crying her eyes out, Hermione, because she's afraid you'll never forgive her. Because you're the closest thing she has to a sister now. Did you know her own family disowned her after they found out she had been involved with a Death Eater? Wouldn't even let her explain, just turned her out into the cold. Couldn't even tell her to her face, can you believe that? Sent her an owl. Yeah. I don't agree with all of her choices, especially concerning you, but I've got to say, Bookworm... she's a pretty fantastic person. And I think you know that. You have to, I know you do. Because the way she talks about you... gods, you can't just throw that away. Or do you not care for her like she cares for you?"

Hermione refused to look into her friend's eyes. Instead, she busied herself in rearranging her bedclothes. "She lied to me, Harry. About everything. I can't trust her."

"She lied about some things, but not about everything. The times you shared together, those were real. Please, Hermione. Please just give her another chance. Because whether or not you find a way to forgive her, she's not leaving. This is her home, and if you're going to stay here, you're going to see her. And Draco, too."

"What?"

"Draco Malfoy. He lives here. And he's not going anywhere, either. This is their home, same as it's mine and Ron's." He stood up and walked to the door. "And yours too, if you would like."

"Harry..."

He turned back to the girl. "Yeah, love?"

So he wasn't all that mad, not really. "It's good to see you."

"You too, Bookworm."

* * *

The curtains were pulled closed, but they were sheer enough that she had noticed the sky darkening. Her stomach growled and she knew it had to be close to dinnertime, if not past. Hermione sat up slowly and moved her feet to touch the soft tufts of rug next to the bed. Just that effort set off fireworks behind her eyes. "Woooah," she whispered to herself. This was harder than it looked. She took her time, though, and after a minute she had worked up the courage to attempt standing. With a crash she crumpled to the floor. "Ow," she whimpered, unable to hold back the stinging tears. She hurt, yeah, but more than that, she felt broken. Weak. She had sworn to herself that she'd never be like this again, not after everything that had happened two years ago. She bit back the memories, but the lingering feeling of vulnerability stuck with her. She tried to brace her arms on the bed to help her up, but it didn't work. She was just contemplating calling for help when she heard the door open and strong arms reached around to lift her up onto the bed. She closed her eyes against the pain that even that small movement caused and bit her lip. "Thanks, Harry."

An awkward laugh, an unknown one. Her eyes flew open and she looked into a somewhat familiar face. "Malfoy."

His hands were shoved into his pockets, his shoulders slouched; the uncomfortable posture and the olive green tee-shirt... nothing but that white blonde hair and those silver-y gray eyes spoke of the boy she had known and despised in school.

"Granger." He nodded his head once in acknowledgment, and then nodded it a few more times, as if he didn't know how to stop. "Alright there?"

No, she hurt all over, but she wasn't about to tell him that. "Fine."

"Okay." He stood there for another long moment, saying nothing. At least he seemed to be as ill at ease with the situation as she was; he was fidgety and had opened and closed his mouth several times, not seeming to know what to say. Just then her stomach let out a large growl, and she felt her cheeks grow impossibly warm.

"Hungry?" To his credit, he was trying not to laugh.

She shrugged noncommittally, and bit back a gasp at the pain that coursed through her.

"Careful with your shoulders. And your back. And your neck. Just... be careful, okay? Story said you were having a sort of seizure before she brought you here. Between that and the Side-Along Apparition, we're guessing you have a lot of pulled muscles, maybe some light fractures. Harry wanted a Healer to look at you, but Story said that you wouldn't want it getting out that you were back. How do you feel, really? The pain-reducing potion must have worn off hours ago."

She glared at him for no other reason than he was being sort of nice, and it made her wary. "I hurt, okay? All over. And yes, I am hungry."

He smirked, and it brought back seven years of memories. "Tsk, tsk, Granger, no need for bad manners. But what would one expect, you have been playing Muggle for far too long." With a pop, he was gone.

"UGH!" she growled, and immediately regretted it. Malfoy had been right, unfortunately. She could feel her lower back complaining with every deep breath. She'd definitely pulled something. Maybe a lot of somethings. And wasn't that perfect, Malfoy being right? Not only right, but right here, at Grimmauld Place. Harry was obviously okay with it, too, which was worse. Where was Harry, anyway?

Another pop sounded next to her and she started, feeling every single movement reverberate in pain throughout her being. Malfoy obviously noticed her discomfort, if that damn smirk on his face was any indication. Why did he always look like the cat that ate the canary?

"Here you are, Granger." With a wave of his hand, one of the chairs at the side of her bed was transfigured into a bed tray, and he carefully set down a platter containing half a sandwich, a bowl of soup, and a cup of tea. "Don't worry, it's not poisoned." Pointing at the sandwich, "Fresh mozzarella, basil, tomato and balsamic vinaigrette," and then the soup, "potato and leek," and then the tea, "chamomile. With a potion for the pain, and a little something to help you sleep."

She stared at him, unsure of what to say. 'Are you sure it's not poisoned?' or 'No thank you, I'd rather starve than accept food from a evil Slytherin,' or even easier, 'Yeah, right.' Instead, remembering her propriety, she sniffed at the soup before taking the smallest amount into her mouth. She then cautiously nibbled at the sandwich. It was bloody delicious, all of it. "Kreacher's gotten better."

Malfoy didn't respond, just sat down next to the bed and leveled her with a stare.

"What?" He was silent. She stared at her food, not wanting to meet his eyes. He seemed so sure, so confident in this house that she had once known as her own. "Don't you have better things to do, Malfoy?"

He laughed, and it sounded suspiciously authentic. "No, not really."

She sipped the soup and bit at the sandwich, feeling full from just the small amount she had already ingested. It must have been a long time since she'd had a honest to goodness meal. Still, she kept at the food, not wanting to make small talk with her school-yard tormentor.

Apparently he did, though. "Read any interesting books lately?"

"What?" she sputtered, a bit of soup landing ungracefully at the corner of her mouth. Malfoy wordlessly handed her a napkin.

"Have you read any interesting books lately?" he asked, speaking slowly as if she were dense. "I have. Story has been bringing all sorts home. Of course now I know she was getting them all from you. For her dear, sweet, blind as a bat grandmum."

Hermione gasped. "You. You're the grandmother with the pompous and outdated classist ideas. Of course."

Draco sneered, and the look was all too recognizable. "I didn't say that I agreed with Darcy; I simply said that I understood where he was coming from. He was raised in a certain manner, and he was acting in a way keeping with his upbringing and position in society."

"Well of course you'd agree, why wouldn't you? Elizabeth Bennet was just a commoner, so of course it was okay that he'd be rude to her, judging her before he really got to know her."

"Oh, and like she didn't judge him? Please!" He looked honestly angry, and it surprised her. "She was just as rude to him as he was to her; he was just more honest about it."

"Wait, are we having a conversation about books?" She hadn't meant to say it, but the reality was just so odd...

The smirk was back. "Yes, Granger, I believe so." She hated how he drawled her last name out, making it sound like much more than two syllables. "And while we're having such a nice little chat, I just want you to know something. Astoria is the only family I have left, and if you hurt her, I will make sure that your stay here is a long and unpleasant one." She simply stared at him, defiant even in silence. "You don't think I can make that happen? How much did Harry tell you about our little... situation?" Again, nothing. He could feel his smirk grew larger. "Oh this will be fun. He's gone, you know, Harry. Back on assignment. Now that he's a senior Auror, he's gone quite often. The Weasel will be with him, of course, seeing as His Gingerness is Potter's junior partner. The Weaslette is off touring with her Quidditch team, and Astoria... well, she's in school, at least during the day." He moved from his chair and had the audacity to sit next to her on the bed. He leaned closer. "Know what that means, Granger? From sun up to sun down, it'll be you and me. And you need someone to do magic around you, don't you? Now I wouldn't risk any Gryffindor retaliation by doing anything stupid, of course. Nothing dangerous or cruel, no. But I could conjure a dozen or two flobberworms and enchant them to sing Celestina Warbeck songs all day, every day." He sat back and waited for her reaction. He was rewarded, of course.

"And that's not cruel? You're a evil git, Malfoy."

He shook his head. "Not a good start, Granger. But you can say what you want about me; I don't really care. Astoria, on the other hand; either forgive her or ignore her, but don't you dare hurt her any more than she's already hurting. Understand?"

She nodded. If Malfoy was serious enough to threaten her, Astoria really must be suffering 'Good,' thought Hermione. The guilt that flooded her as soon as she had the thought told her she didn't really mean it, however.

She watched as Malfoy stood up, making a big display of stretching before he walked to the doorway. Her eyes followed him as he drew his wand out of the front pocket of his denims, and wordlessly, a silver something flew from the tip of the wand. "If you need something, I'm downstairs. Kreacher is sort of in retirement, but that doesn't mean you can wake me for any foolish reason. I'm not a house elf."

She watched the patronus flit about the room. "A phoenix?" she asked, her voice full of questioning and confusion. The silvery bird was beautiful, that was for sure.

He nodded but gave no explanation. "I've charmed your dinner tray, so when you're done with your food, just tap it twice and it will go back to the kitchen." She looked at him warily and he rolled his eyes. "Come off it Granger; I'm the one doing the magic, not you. Any Muggle could tap it and it would work the same." Satisfied, she nodded once, and watched his back as he disappeared around the corner and out of sight. A voice appeared from the patronus, and in her surprise she kneed her bed tray and a glob of soup splattered onto her half-eaten sandwich. Malfoy's voice spoke from the patronus' direction. "If you need something, just point at the patronus and speak. It won't use magic, I promise. At least not on your end." The voice faded and she was alone in the room once more, even more confused than she had been just an hour before.

Malfoy living in Grimmauld Place. Malfoy acting like something other than a foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach. Malfoy willing (sort of) to help her? It didn't make sense, even when she accounted for his desertion of Voldemort, even when she accepted that he obviously was no longer Harry's enemy. She bit into her sandwich once more and murmured her approval. She sipped the tea, thankful that it would help her sleep once more. Sleep sounded good, like the one thing she needed right now; she really wasn't ready to face her new reality.

* * *

Two floors down, Draco Malfoy tried to calm his racing heart. He had spoken to her, actually had somewhat of a conversation without either of them sinking to (too much) name-calling. It was something. Of course, he'd threatened her, and she'd looked horrified after realizing they'd just talked literature, but still... it was something. And as much as it pained him to admit it, he wanted nothing more than to march back into that room and argue with her for minutes, hours, days more. And he'd have time to do just that, he reminded himself, as the smirk became a real smile. This was going to be fun.


	42. Huh.

Hermione woke up to the sound of birds chirping outside the attic window. She should have been charmed by the simple melodies; instead, she found herself resenting the happiness of songbirds. Which was sort of ridiculous, but that didn't make it less real to her.

She was stuck. Coming back to Grimmauld Place had not been part of the plan. The plan was to graduate from university, maybe go on to post-graduate work right away, maybe find a job before getting her masters. So yeah, that part of the plan wasn't completely fleshed out yet. Somewhere in between she'd meet a guy, fall in love, and (once she was established in her career) get married. Maybe have a child or two.

Returning to Grimmauld Place was not a part of the plan.

Her skin itched just being there. It wasn't that she didn't want to be around her friends; she'd explained to Harry yesterday. Hadn't she? Well, she'd said that she didn't NOT want to be around them. Whatever. The double negatives seemed never ending. She didn't not want to see Harry. Didn't not want to ever come face to face with Ron again. It was just easier this way. She nodded vigorously. Yes, that was it. It was just easier to keep things the way they were; Ron and Harry in this world, she in the Muggle world. Separate. Sure, she wasn't really happy there, but how many people were really happy with their life? Not that many, she supposed.

But now... she was here. Stuck. Surrounded by magic, the one thing she was actually afraid of. Although that wasn't really true; she was afraid of herself. Her own magic. But that was neither here nor there, since she wasn't going to do magic. Ever. Again.

Growling out loud at the state of things, the confusion in her mind, and at those damn noisy birds, she slowly sat up in bed. God, that still hurt.

Just outside the door to the attic she heard a commotion. Great. Malfoy. Had to be. Quickly she looked at her clothes, and seeing that she was decent, she tried to assume what she hoped would be a powerful position. Or at least as powerful a position one can have when one is in pajamas, valiantly attempting to sit up without grimacing.

There was a knock at the door, and she answered, "Come in," before evening thinking on it. Malfoy's blonde head popped into the doorway, and she groaned. Should have pretended to be sleeping. Even if it was probably close to lunch time.

"Granger. Glad to see you've decided to be conscious for at least part of the day. Sorry to have woken you."

She met his sarcastic tone with one of her own. "Been up for awhile, Malfoy, you didn't wake me." Maybe it wasn't true, but she didn't want to admit to having spent half the morning asleep. "And if I had remembered that I'd have to suffer your company today, I'd have hit myself on the head until I blacked out once more."

"Ahhh Granger. Your wit astounds and amazes me. Truly, I am hurt. Better be nice to me, or I'll invite those lovely flobberworms I was telling you about." He walked into the room and, rather than sitting down next to the bed, stood over her, his wand raised.

"What exactly do you think you're doing?" she asked, shrinking away.

Waving his wand wildly, he answered, "Turning you into a tea kettle, of course." He made a face. A 'Merlin, don't make this more difficult than it has to be' face. "I'm taking your vitals. Shut up and hold still."

"I will not shut up!" she screeched indignantly, and the awful pitch was painful on her own ears, so it must have been terrible on Malfoy's. Served him right.

He pointed the wand at her. "Fine. Tea kettle it is, then."

"Better than a bouncing ferret," she mumbled.

The first feeling that surged through him was rage. How dare she bring that up! Even though it happened years before, he still felt sore about it. Someone in authority, someone he was supposed to trust, had used magic against him; him, a Malfoy. But then he looked long and hard at the defiant lift of Hermione's chin, the stubborn set of her jaw, and the obvious pain that she was trying to hide just behind her eyes, and he laughed out loud. "Ahh, sporting as ever, eh Granger?"

Hermione was dumbfounded. She was sure that would get a rise out of Malfoy, and he'd taken the comment and actually laughed. Maybe he had gone insane. Yes, that was probably it.

"Seriously, though, shut up. You need to be as still as can be for at least 30 seconds. I know it's probably going to kill you, keeping your gob shut, but I'm not a Healer, and this sort of magic takes a very delicate touch. So keep the insults to yourself for at least a minute, yeah?"

He leaned forward until he was very, very close to her, and she watched the extreme concentration on his face. She held every single muscle still, even though her lower back was screaming to relax, to release. Thinking of her awful morning breath, she didn't even allow herself inhalation or exhalation, just sat as still as possible until Malfoy had moved away. When he was done with whatever magic he'd preformed, she breathed deeply, unwilling to look at the young man. He'd been awfully close to her, but he hadn't turned her into anything awful, nor had he commented on her stench, which she knew to be pretty nasty after the lack of recent showers. It was confusing.

"Your vitals are good. You probably still feel pretty weak, but you haven't been eating much of anything, so that's to be expected. Do you think you're up for getting out of bed today?"

She slowly and silently shifted her feet to the ground once more, and today, it didn't feel like she was dying. That was an improvement. One hand still touching the bed, she slowly shifted her weight to her feet and stood. She was instantly dizzy and disoriented. An arm reached around her waist and drew her close, keeping her from falling. Malfoy. She pushed him away, hard, without thinking.

The hurt in his eyes was only there for a moment, but she saw it. "I'm sorry. It's just... habit."

"Whatever." His words had a dangerous edge to them, and she felt all the more guilty for causing his sudden change in behavior.

"It's not just you... I just don't, erm, deal well... with people touching me. Men. People."

His tone was cutting. "Whatever, Princess." His gray eyes had changed from light and clear to dark and murky, and she felt herself slinking backwards towards the bed without meaning to.

"Don't call me that," she whispered, wrapping her arms around herself tightly. "Don't ever call me that, please."

It was the please that reached him, that one word that banished his anger. It was pleading, broken. She was frightened.

He held his hands out in front of him, palms facing her like one would do for a wild animal. "Okay. Okay, I won't call you that." He turned away and carded a hand through his hair, unsure of what to do. This wasn't going as planned. He had thought he'd come upstairs, have a verbal sparring with Granger, and then make them something to eat. He had spent all morning looking forward to her snarky comments; he had made up conversation after conversation in his head. He'd call her a know-it-all and she'd call him... something, and it would be tense, but fun. Now that he and Potter were friends, he missed a good argument. Since the Weasel and Story had been getting on with one another, His Gingerness left him mostly alone. He was all geared up for a good scrap and now it had gone to shit. He'd gotten angry, and yeah, maybe a bit hurt, and she'd gotten... sad. Scared. Smaller, somehow.

Still turned away, he ventured the question once more. "So do you think you're up for getting out of bed today?"

The creaking of floor boards was an answer in itself. She was behind him now, not close enough to be within reach, but close enough. "Yeah," she whispered, unsure of it all. The whole situation. Her whole world.

"Good. You'll heal sooner if you move your muscles. Breakfast... lunch..." he looked at his watch and his brow furrowed, "...whatever... will be ready in a half hour. Then we can set about doing more magic." He walked towards the door without a look behind him, sure that she was listening intently. "And Granger? Take a bloody shower; you stink."

* * *

She let the water course down her body, washing the ache from her muscles and the dirt and sweat from her skin. It felt glorious, just standing there. Remembering how quickly the water turned cool without the use of magic, she reached for the nearest bottle of shampoo and begrudgingly began to wash her hair. Sniffed the air once, twice. It was a nice scent, not what she'd expect from shampoo. Eucalyptus and some sort of mint?

She spied a purple razor nestled in the corner edge of the shower. Astoria's, had to be. She slowly washed herself, her eyes never leaving the razor. She dragged the bar of soap over her legs and considered the facts. She hadn't shaved in days. There was a razor in the shower. Yeah, it was Astoria's. Astoria, who was Elizabeth. Elizabeth, who she had counted among her very, very few friends. She ran a hand over her arm pit. Way too prickly. She didn't know Astoria, but Elizabeth wouldn't mind. That settled it.

She stepped out of the shower before the water turned to ice, and wrapped the towel around her newly cleansed self, stopping to knick someone's lotion to slather over her soft, hairless legs. Ahh, that was better. She felt infinitely more human now.

Hermione reached the bedroom and looked around for her clothes. They had to have brought her clothes, right? She opened every single drawer in the small dresser beside the bed. Nothing. She looked at her dirty pajamas and paused. She could just put them back on, of course. Could just pretend that she hadn't been wearing them for three days, hadn't sweated in them. Could pretend they didn't smell to high heaven. The thought made her nauseated. No, not putting those back on, she decided.

She could borrow Harry's stuff, maybe. He had to have a pair of shorts and a t-shirt that would work okay. Just until she found something more suitable. She considered looking for Astoria's room but decided against it. She hadn't spoken to the girl since the day before, and they were still on very bad terms. She wasn't about to steal an outfit. A razor was bad enough.

Squaring her shoulders, she made her way down the first flight of stairs with only a few soft cries of pain. Gods, she hurt. She was halfway down the second flight, taking it step by painful step, when she heard him coming towards her. "Shit!" she whispered loudly, and then grimaced. There's no way he hadn't heard that.

He had heard her take the first step down from the attic almost five minutes ago, or at least it seemed that long ago. Draco knew she was in pain, but this was ridiculous. At this rate she'd be down in time for dinner, and he wasn't going to wait that long for her, good manners be damned. He made his way up the stairs, determined to hurry her up. "Granger, are you going to take all day or do I need to levitate you down here already? It's been forty-five minutes, the food is getting..." cold. Fuck. Hermione Granger in a towel. Hermione Granger, wet hair, rosy skin, standing above him, showing way too much thigh, and in a towel. Fuckfuckfuck. He turned away before she could see his reddened cheeks, and managed to squawk out a, "Uh, what are you doing?"

She pulled the towel closer around herself and breathed through the embarrassment. Merlin, this was awful. "Looking for clothes," she hissed, "what else could I possibly be doing?"

"I dunno," he choked out, "some weird Muggle thing. Maybe Muggles flounce around in towels at brunch. They're strange."

"First of all," she seethed, "I am not flouncing. Secondly..." she groaned, "UGH, just get out of my way so I can steal something from Harry."

His eyes cast down at the step in front of him, he swished a hand at her. "No. Back upstairs. Story's got your stuff in her room, I think. Went to get it last night but didn't want to upset you by coming back in to drop it off."

Hermione followed his instruction because, at that moment, there wasn't much else to do. Thinking about her position in relation to his, she reached both hands down to her thighs and pulled tightly at her towel. She heard Malfoy snicker below her. "What is it now, Malfoy?" she hissed, her face still on fire.

"I'm not looking at your arse. Calm down."

Turning slightly, she questioned, "If you weren't looking at my arse, how did you know I was concerned you were looking at my arse?" She had him, she knew she did. He wouldn't have seen her trying to contain her modesty if he'd been looking at the stairs.

"Just keep walking," he grumbled, horrified at being caught. By himself and her. Salazar, he really needed to get out of the house.

They reached the third floor and Malfoy moved to open a door. "This is her room?" He nodded. "Used to be mine," she said. "When I wasn't with..." she stopped.

"The Weasel?" Even without seeing her nod, he knew that's what she meant. "You and Astoria sure seem to have a lot in common," he mumbled.

Hermione stopped still, unable to breathe. Ron and...? No. Couldn't be.

"Shit," Malfoy bit out. He's been sure Story would have admitted to that yesterday. It wasn't as if Granger could have gotten any more angry. "I'm sorry Granger, I thought you knew."

He turned and looked at the Gryffindor. She was holding herself so carefully, trying to look for all the world as if she didn't care. "Oh, I did. Just strange, I guess." He could tell she was lying. She hadn't known, but if that's how she wanted to play it...

He grabbed the overnight bag from the side of Story's bed and slung it across his shoulders, moving past Granger to walk up the stairs. He didn't need the temptation of her in front of him. All that soft, pale skin...

No. Stop it.

He looked at his watch again, not noticing Granger giving him a strange look. Eleven in the morning. Almost seven more hours until Astoria returned. He just hoped they'd both be alive by the time she got back.

* * *

It was close to three in the afternoon by the time that Granger would actually meet his gaze once more. He wasn't sure if it was the semi-nudity, the Ron and Astoria situation, or the fact that he was Draco Malfoy, but he was thankful that she seemed to have recovered from the beginning of the day.

He had set her about chopping up various herbs an hour before. She had been reticent to do it, but he had held back any threatening words about flobberworms and settled on asking nicely. "There's no magic to it," he promised. "It's belladonna and wolfsbane. Ordinary garden variety plants, if one was to choose to grow incredibly deadly plants in one's garden. All you have to do is cut them both very thinly. Thin like parchment. If you manage to not mess that up, I'll have you crush some tarragon next." Well, he had been sort of nice about it.

He was surprised to hear her voice, quiet as it was. "What?" he asked. She cleared her throat and asked again.

"What's the tarragon for, exactly?"

He shrugged. "Smells good."

She sniffed, nonplussed. "Smells good? That's it?" He nodded. "So I've been sitting here for over an hour, trying to remember the properties of plants, going crazy because I can't remember what tarragon is used for, and I'm crushing it because it smells good?"

She watched as he fought a smile, but to no avail. "Yes. Makes it easier for the potion to go down if it doesn't smell like death or rotting garbage." And then, "It's in my shampoo, too. The one you used. Tarragon, that is, not death or rotting garbage. Eucalyptus, spearmint, and tarragon."

"Oh, erm, sorry. I didn't know it was yours. Won't happen again."

He waved her off. "It's fine. Story buys it for me." His voice rose to one that mimicked his female friend. "'Eucalyptus purifies and stimulates blood flow, spearmint re-energizes and revitalizes, and tarragon...'"

"Smells good," they finished together, and Hermione bit back a grin. "Well, I can buy my own shampoo."

He shrugged. "Sure, of course. You can use mine until you get your own, if you'd like. Just be careful, or Story will start picking out your toiletries as well. She even convinced me to allow her to cut my hair."

Hermione ignored Malfoy's friendly gesture (obviously went insane, no doubt about it) and glanced at his blonde locks, studying the style. "It's not bad," she admitted, and felt a faint blush stain her cheeks. "I mean," she quickly corrected, "it's a bit shaggy in the front, but not too bad. Not like that horrible hairdo you wore at school." Merlin, why was she blushing? It was Malfoy for gods' sakes. "Used to use enough oil for a deep fry," she muttered for good measure.

"Thanks," Draco replied awkwardly, "I think."

There was silence in the room for another long while, the only sound the sharp grinding of mortar on pestle, and then Hermione spoke up again. "She already has, you know. Picked out my toiletries. Or at least... Elizabeth did. Always telling me I needed to try new scents, new beauty products. Liked shopping too much, that one."

"Still does," Draco smiled. Astoria was never one to turn down a shopping trip, that was for certain. And she did love to buy her friends little things, just tokens of her affection. A chocolate, a new Weasley Wizard Wheezes product. A book.

"She tried to get me to buy this awful perfume one day. Elizabeth, that is." Hermione shivered just remembering the smell. "It was terrible! Smelled like a sweets shop and a florist shop collided in some terrible accident. Yuck."

Draco, unsure of what to say, just nodded. "Yeah, Astoria likes her perfumes very girly. I shouldn't know that, but Merlin help me, I do. Likes her perfumes girly and her nail varnish bright. Merlin, why do I know that?" he sighed.

Hermione couldn't believe they were talking about something as silly as beauty products; she and Draco Malfoy. Still, it was better than the awkward silences, she supposed. "I prefer more botanical scents," she offered, "not just sweet flowers, though. More... aromatherapy type smells." She saw Malfoy's quizzical look and decided to give some specifics instead of explaining exactly what aromatherapy was; he'd just mock her and all things Muggle. "Sandalwood, vetiver, ginger..." she trailed off.

"Lavender?"

Hermione just stared at him. How did he know? That was her favorite, actually, even if the name recalled an unpleasant ex-roommate of hers. "Uh, yeah, lavender's nice."

He nodded and inwardly cursed himself for speaking the thought aloud. He knew she liked lavender; he had smelled it hundreds of times before on her books and the rest of the things she had left in the attic. He remembered smelling it on the duvet he had inherited from her. A faint floral with a slight bite.

Neither said another word for the next hour, both wondering what to make of the strange day. Draco wondered if he should try to make a peace offering to Granger, like he had with Potter. He could apologize for the way he used to be, for the years of mocking her blood status and her obvious intelligence. But then he'd lose out on the snarky comments that kept him on his toes, and he sort of liked the way Granger was obviously uncomfortable around him. He hadn't experienced that tension in a long, long time. In school, people constantly watched themselves around him, wanting his approval, his attention. He fondly recalled the days of picking on Granger in between classes; he had always enjoyed how she'd get so bent out of shape, even if he'd just have made fun of that bushy hair of hers. Which, he had noticed, was no longer an issue. All soft curls and... stop. Stop. Now.

Still, it may be fun to have someone around that wasn't going to treat him like a house-elf or a pity case (although he had to admit to himself that neither Harry nor Astoria did either of those things; he just sometimes felt like that. And the Weasel... well, he barely paid Draco any mind).

It was settled. No peace offering.

They continued in their separate work for another hour and a half, Draco carefully weighing ingredients and packaging them in small vials to be used for later products, Hermione cutting or grinding or smashing whatever plants he handed her way. He was amazed at how well she was doing; he knew she must still be in pain, even more so since she'd not accepted the pain-reducing potion he'd offered her earlier. The movement and the shower must have helped, but he didn't suppose she was running on anything more than firm concentration and plain old stubbornness.

He cleared his throat. "Story will be back within the next twenty minutes, most likely."

She just hummed in reply.

"That is, if you want to go back to your room. The attic. If you don't want to see her, I mean."

The Gryffindor bit her bottom lip and sighed. "Yes, I think that would be for the best." Wordlessly she cleaned up her area of the table and piled up the ingredients, careful to keep them separate.

"I'll bring you up some dinner in about an hour."

She nodded and walked out the door, trudging up the steps to the attic. She became aware of the dull pain in her back and shoulders, but she pushed it away. Even if all she had done today was wake up, and shower, and eat, and cut up plants and NOT kill Draco Malfoy, that was something, wasn't it? One some days, the really difficult ones, the only thing she accomplished was breathing. Yeah. So it was something.


	43. Reverberate

The attic was nice and cool, the slight chill of the mid-April evening clearing Hermione's mind of awkward meetings in towels, or worse, the thought of Elizabeth/Astoria with her ex-boyfriend. She could feel the crispness in the air even while inside with the windows closed, and she remembered, suddenly, nights camping out with Ron and Harry, searching for Horcruxes. They weren't good times, not really; the arguing, the constant tension the locket brought; the close quarters and the fear tangible to them, a tight grip on their lungs. But there were moments, small as they may have been, that she still cherished. Well, that she had cherished. Hot cocoa sipped around a fire on a cold night, the stars stark against a moonlit sky. Ron and Harry alternately cheating at card games that lasted until early morning, clouds streaked with light pink and orange. They were memories she rarely dwelled on. She no longer thought of the past if it was at all possible, preferring to concentrate on the here and now. Her musings were quick to get away from her, and fond memories of her boys sitting by a cool lake, talking and laughing... well, those thoughts more often than not drifted into darker, more sinister times, and she didn't deal well with that. Not at all. Better to forget.

She knew the exact moment that Astoria entered Grimmauld Place, even if she hadn't heard the girl. The atmosphere changed, and maybe it was a creak of a step, or perhaps she smelled the soot from the fireplace, but she knew that Astoria was back from school. Strange, that she commuted to Hogwarts. Hermione had never heard of such a thing. Had to be a reason, though she didn't want to contemplate it now. In fact, she wanted to think of very little right now. It had been a strange day. Draco Malfoy had been sort of an ass, but not nearly as bad as she had remembered. The fact that she could actually stand to be in his presence.. well, that was strange as well, so she put it out of her mind.

The attic was so different than she remembered. The whole house was different, actually, and she couldn't decide if it was a good thing or not. She had been amazed at some of the changes; the sitting room looked like it belonged to an entirely different house, the heavy, dark drapes replaced with light sheers, the old, musty furniture replaced with clean lines and soft fabrics. Her temporary room was surprisingly comforting, especially for a place that held memories of blood stones and difficult conversations. Her old books were organized on a book shelf along the far wall, and she recognized some volumes from the Black family library, plus some books that may have belonged to Ron or Harry. She wondered where the rest of her things had been put; were they kept somewhere, or had they been discarded? She hoped that they had been donated instead of thrown away.

Muffled voices broke through her musings, and she stood still, not wanting to move a muscle. Her shoulders and back begged her to lay down and relax, but her curiosity won out. She could almost understand the words, but not quite... She could open the door, but she didn't want to be caught eavesdropping if Draco and Astoria were in the middle of a fight. Even though she definitely did want to witness such an event.

The voices grew louder and she could make out a word here and there, nothing to go on, really, except the tone; then she heard a pained cry, sort of a mix between a scream and a sob. There was the slamming of a door, and footsteps up the stairs.

She rushed to the bed, not wanting Malfoy to catch her doing nothing, as that would most certainly indicate she'd been listening. She made it under the quilt and opened the closest book she'd been able to grab when the footsteps stopped right outside her door. Hurriedly she glanced down at the text in her hands and grimaced. Bad choice. "Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches." Ugh. Could be Ron or Harry's, but she definitely did not want to be caught reading such a tome. She flung the book beneath the coverlet and was trying to figure out whether she should pretend to be sleeping or writing when the door slowly creaked open.

She glanced up casually, feigning a slight air of annoyance, and gasped. It wasn't Malfoy. Red hair, cut shorter than she'd ever seen on him, greeted her, along with blue eyes. Blue eyes that she would know anywhere, no matter the circumstances. Ronald Weasley blue eyes.

He didn't move towards her, and she didn't dare speak. Eyes locked in a silent impasse, she didn't realize she'd been holding her breath until she began to feel dizzy; well, dizzier than the present moment afforded. The small gasp that escaped her seemed explosive in the vacuum created between the door and the bed, and the sound seemed to propel the redhead forward, because he was suddenly there, his arms around her.

She breathed him in, the scent familiar yet changed. The tears flowed naturally, but then she was laughing, so she wasn't sure if it was sadness or happiness. He pulled away and looked at her, and she was sure, so sure, that he was going to kiss her, and for a moment, she thought she'd let him. And then he was across the room, having moved so quickly away that she hadn't noticed him standing until his arms around her were absent.

He doesn't say anything, and she wanted to ask a million questions, wanted him to make a joke, anything to break the tension.

"I," he started, and his voice cracked awkwardly. He cleared it and started again. "I thought about this day, this moment for two years. The day that you would come back and I'd see you again. Must have thought of a thousand and one different scenarios. And I never pictured it exactly like this."

"Well," she said, and it didn't mean anything, but she had to say something, right?

"Sorry you had to hear that," he said ruefully, unwilling to meet her eyes. He gestured to the doorway, and she understood. It had been him arguing with Astoria, not Malfoy.

"Ah. Yes. Well." Again, not helping. Why can't she just say nothing?

"Harry told me," Ron explained, grabbing a chair beside the bed and dragging it a good five feet away before sitting down on it. "I made him tell me, I mean. I knew something was up, with the weird disappearing act he's been pulling. We were on a pretty important case, so it was strange, him leaving like that. Corner and I, Michael Corner, that is, made up a dozen reasons why he'd just leave in the middle of a job. Wouldn't have guessed this." He shoved his hands in the pockets of his denims, and then pulled them out just as quickly.

"I wasn't planning on this happening," Hermione whispered. "I was sick, and Eliz... Astoria brought me here."

He nodded. "Yeah, that's what Harry said. Also said that you two have been friends for a while now, that so?"

"I was friends with Elizabeth, who I thought was a fun Muggle girl who cared for her grandmother. Apparently, some of the facts were turned around." Her tone was bitter, she knew that. Didn't help. Couldn't help it.

Again he nodded, so she went on, trying to cool her temper. "I don't know Astoria. But Elizabeth probably saved my life, so..." She laughed helplessly. "I don't know what to say to you, Ron. I had it all planned out," he smiled sadly; of course she did, "exactly what I would say to you if I saw you again. And now I just..." She looked around the room, searching for the right words. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry about everything that happened. I don't know what else to say."

"Were you ever planning to come back?"

"No." She knew it would hurt him, but he should know the truth. No, she never planned to come back. Never.

"Right. Well. Harry says you'll be here for a month or two?"

She nodded. "Yeah, that's what he says. Or that's what he says the Healers say."

"Okay," he whispered, and then repeated himself louder, sounding more confident. "Okay."

"Okay," she echoed. "I guess we'll see seeing each other around, then?"

He sighed and stood up, making to leave. "I'm going to be busy with work; I need just a few more good mentions and I'll be promoted to senior Auror, but it's going to take some work. There are just a handful of possible Death Eaters left that we've been following, and capturing any one of them could be what gets me that position. So I won't be around much."

"Oh. Okay."

"And I've decided," he said slowly, "that it may be a better idea for me to stay at my mum's; just for the time being."

"Don't be silly, Ronald," she snapped, "this is your home, and I'm not going to run you out of it."

He smiled sadly; many things had changed but that bossy tone? he still knew it.

"You're not running me out. I just think it will make things a little easier on all of us if I'm out of the way for a bit. With you here, and Astoria..." he trailed off, embarrassed at the drama.

"How long have you two... been together?" she asked cautiously.

"Long enough."

"Ah."

"Yeah."

She considered her words carefully, thinking that she really should learn to just be silent. However. "You care about her, then?"

He sighed deeply, and she saw just how much older he'd grown since their last meeting. "Yes. I care about her. But what she did... I can't just let it go. She lied to me, to all of us, for a year. A year, and I had no idea. So maybe caring about someone doesn't mean all that much. Maybe it's not enough."

"How much?"

"Huh?"

"How much do you care about her, Ron?"

"More than I feel comfortable admitting to you, 'Mione." The sadness in his voice and that name, that simple nickname that implied intimacy and reminded her of so many lazy mornings... Shit, this was hard.

"Well than it should be enough," she said simply.

"It wasn't enough for you," he shot back, but his tone was soft, almost sorry.

"No. It wasn't. Because I wanted better for you, Ron. And maybe Eliz... Astoria's better. I can't say for sure. But if you care about her, you should work through this, understand? Because that sort of happiness, I don't think it just comes along, you know?" It hadn't for her, not that she'd really been looking. It was hard, pushing the boy (man) she had loved so dearly into the arms of another, but looking at him, she knew. She still loved him, yes, but it wasn't the same. She didn't feel the need to hold him close and kiss him and love him the way she once had, with all that was in her and more. She loved him still, but it was softer, further. Like a kite string you let loose, the kite flying high, so high you can barely see it, their hearts were far apart now but still tethered. Without realizing it, she had held on to pieces of him, unable to let it all go. She knew she would need to do so in order to ever conceive of moving on. Of letting him move on. If he cared about Astoria, than maybe the girl wasn't completely bad. And wasn't this what she had wanted for him after all? A love that wasn't burdened by dark magic and blood?

He bit his lip and nodded. "Maybe." It was the most he could give tonight.

He walked to the door again, and Hermione thought of all the conversations she'd had lately in doorways, the way situations changed with the simple swinging of a door. Open the door to her childhood bedroom and pass out drunk with Elizabeth, wake up somewhere different with Astoria. Open the door and there's Harry, close the door and she's alone. Open the door and there's Ron, her past and her present colliding. She knew when he closed the door tonight, it would be over, forever. Anything they had once had would be memories, a blown out candle, smoke dissipating.

"'Mione?"

"Yeah?"

He strode to her and pulled her from the bed into a full embrace, and it was tight and she couldn't breathe for a few long seconds, and then it was over. "'Even if this thing between Astoria and I... I mean. Even if it doesn't work out, I'm glad that you had someone out there in the world. I hated the thought of you all alone. And... I'm glad you're back. It feels bloody fantastic to see you in this house again." His face lit up with the goofy grin she knew as well as she knew any book.

"I missed you too, Ron."

And then he was gone, the door was closed, and she drew in a deep breath and blew out the candle, memories fading in and out like smoke.


	44. Doting

"Weasley." Draco's voice was deadly quiet, the tone calm, utterly opposite of the rage he felt inside. He was doing his best not to throttle the Gryffindor, but he was losing the battle.

Ron turned around, still clutching the bit of Floo powder. "Ferret."

"Drop the powder. We need to have a chat."

Ron seriously considered firing up the Floo network anyways and making a dash for it. It wasn't as if the daft Slytherin would follow him anyway. Forever stuck in Grimmauld Place, unable to face his fears. Pathetic.

But he wasn't a coward. So instead he replaced the powder in the amber urn and faced his accuser. "What do you want, Malfoy?" It had been a difficult evening, incredibly emotionally draining. He never thought he would see Hermione again, and there she was, in his house. With Astoria. Who had lied to him.

Bugger.

"Believe me, Weasel, I'd rather go on pretending you don't exist, but for some unknown and inexplicable reason Astoria had decided that she wants you in her life. Which means that I have to acknowledge you when, not if, you royally fuck things up. So I'm going to be straight with you: if you hurt her, I will kill you. I've killed before, so I think I've got the hang of it."

"What are you on about, Ferret?"

"Oh please, like the entire house didn't hear that little talk you two had," Draco replied, his voice now dripping with sarcasm and derision. "If I ever hear you speak to her like that again..."

"What? You'll do what Malfoy? You wouldn't actually kill me, because Harry wouldn't stick up for your pathetic arse this time. It'd be Azkaban for sure this time, no slithering away. Because no matter how well you two get on, I will always be his best mate. He will never pick you over me. Hell, he wouldn't pick you over Kreacher. At least he shouldn't. You're a pity case, Malfoy; that's all you'll ever be. And as far as Astoria goes, it's none of your business."

Draco stepped forward menacingly, willing himself not to do anything stupid. The Weasel was right on a few accounts; Harry would never pick Draco over his best friend, and the fact that he was still living in Grimmauld Place... well, he often did believe it was out of pity that he was allowed to stay. Sure, he and Harry got on fine; hell, he could even admit he truly enjoyed the Chosen One's company, but their history was still there. Always had been, always would be. But Astoria... the Weasel was wrong as far as she was concerned.

"Listen carefully, Weasley, because I don't want to say this again. If it has to do with Astoria Greengrass, it's my business." He jabbed at his chest, "I am her family. I protect her. I care for her. I love her. I am all she has, and she is all I have, and that's the end of it. So you breaking her heart like that, and immediately going back to your ex-girlfriend," he sneered, "well that is my business. Understood?"

From up the stairs, Astoria Greengrass held her breath. There were parts of herself that she hadn't known existed, tiny little bits and pieces, that were breaking. She could feel them cracking with every heartbeat. It was as if she was made of glass, and the fractures ran down her body, inside and out. She'd been the one who had royally fucked up, not Ron. Ron would never want her now that he couldn't trust her. In just a few days, everything she'd worked so hard for had vanished. Hermione had been her friend, but no more. Ron had been her... well, they didn't have titles, but they meant something to one another. She was pretty sure she was in love with the boy.

"It's not like that," Ron said, voice just barely audible to Astoria's ears. "Hermione... she's my friend. It's been years, and I had to see her. I needed to make sure she was okay. I care about her. But it's not like that, so don't twist it into something it's not. And yeah, I'm," he clenched his fists and tried to control the anger in his voice, "I'm so incredibly upset at Astoria that I could scream. She lied to me, and to you. She lied to us all. Doesn't that bother you?" Malfoy's pale face was impassive, cold and immovable as a statue. "Well it bothers me. She and I... we're supposed to mean something. The fact that she couldn't tell me the truth, that she could hide something like that... I don't know where that leaves us. But that's between me and Astoria. You can play big brother, Ferret. I understand why you feel the need to do so. She's been through a lot, she has, and she's still so innocent in many ways. But you don't have to protect her from me, understand? Because I'm not going to hurt her, at least not on purpose. She's a big girl, she can handle a fight. She's a snake and I'm a lion; fights are bound to happen. But I'm not running away, and you can't push me away from her, no matter how hard you try, got it? Because you're wrong. You're not all she has. She has me too. She's my family too. She's... she's not a substitute. I'm with her because I want to be, not because it's convenient for the time being. Even when I feel like throttling her, I still care about her. Possessive gits like yourself and ex-girlfriends won't change that. We'll work this out," he said, "I just need some time." He looked towards the stairs where Astoria sat hidden from sight. "You understand that, Story?"

Astoria gasped, the sound traveling down to where Ron and Draco still stood in front of the fireplace. She'd been caught.

"I know you can hear me, Story. Do you understand what I'm saying?" he called.

She cleared her throat. "Um, yes."

"Good." He turned back to Malfoy. "I'll be gone for a few days, and then I'll be at the Burrow. Make yourself useful and see if you can get Hermione and Story talking by the time I get back; it's not like you have a whole lot else to do here. Being a house-elf isn't that time-consuming, hmm?" He picked up a handful of Floo powder once more and stood in front of the fireplace. "And Malfoy?"

"Yeah."

"If you ever threaten me again, I'll turn you into a ferret and leave you like that." He flung the powder in the fire, stepped in, spoke his location, and was gone.

Draco walked up the stairs to where Astoria was and sat down next to her. "I really dislike that git."

She pursed her lips, trying to hold back a smile. Tears still flowed from her pretty blue-green eyes, but the fractures had stopped and the pain was less. "Yeah, I know." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you, big brother."

"Whatever," he grunted. "Any excuse to put the Weasel in his place."

"Mmm hmmm," Astoria hummed knowingly. She knew Draco better than that. He'd obviously made a spectacle of himself, proclaiming his love and devotion to Astoria. And now he felt foolish about it, especially since she'd heard it. Her hero. She smiled. "How about some hot cocoa?"

"Always with the chocolate," he admonished, and pulled her up with him. "Dinner first."

She followed him down the two flights of stairs and into the kitchen. "I love you, you know. Even if you threatened to kill my sort-of boyfriend."

"He threatened me, too!" Draco said. Women.

Astoria held her hands up in front of her. "I know, I know. I'm drawn to prats, what can I say? Must be why the two of you are the most important men in my life." She grinned mischievously.

She didn't see Draco spoon up a bit of mashed potatoes, but she definitely noticed when a glob hit her in the face. "Ohhhh, you're dead, Ferret."

It was an impressive fight, and when all was said and done, there was food everywhere. "You're cleaning this up," Draco said, smirking.

"And why on earth would I do that?" asked Astoria.

"We wouldn't be in this mess if it weren't for you. And I don't just mean the mess we're currently standing in."

Her face fell and she nodded. "Yeah, I know."

Draco licked a bit of potato off of his face and quirked an eyebrow. "So how are you going to go about fixing it, then?"

"Dunno, exactly. Hermione doesn't trust me and you heard Ron. He needs time. And space, it seems."

Draco nodded. "You have to talk to Granger eventually. She's stuck here, anyways, so it's not like she can run from you. I say you go upstairs and confront her."

"You make it sound like she's the one who is in the wrong, Draco."

He shrugged. "You saved her life, didn't you?"

Astoria shook her head. "Not that simple and you know it."

He reached into the refrigerator and produced a plate of food. "This just needs a minute in the microwiz and then you can take it to her. You don't have to have some big dramatic talk, just let her know that you're not afraid to see her. That you're not sulking in your room, ashamed. Because Weasel's right about one thing; she needs to talk to you eventually. You live here, after all."

Astoria protested but then the hot (very hot) plate was trust into her hands and Draco was pushing her up the stairs. "Don't come back down until you've gotten her to at least say one word to you, or no hot cocoa. I'm not keen on living in a house with this sort of drama forever. Two sulking women." He shuddered. "Fix it." She pouted and pulled out her best puppy dog face, but Draco wasn't buying it. He pointed up the stairs. "Fix. It. And then you'll help me fix another dinner, because this one is ruined."

Astoria knew that look of determination on Draco's face. He wouldn't back down, no matter how many pitiful looks she threw in his direction. Fine. She'd go. If only to get her best friend off of her back.

She took her time climbing the stairs, trying to think of what to say. She still hadn't made up her mind by the time she reached the door to the attic. Shite. She'd just have to wing it.

Hermione answered before she could knock twice. Astoria opened the door slowly, her eyes pointed down at the plate she held. She didn't want to see the look on Hermione's face.

"Erm, hello." She held out the plate to Hermione and waited for the girl to accept it. She did.

"Hi."

Well. Hermione had said a word. Her mission was complete. She made for the door but Hermione stopped her. "Wait." So she did.

"Uh, do you have a minute? To sit with me, I mean?"

Astoria nodded and sat.

"I just... that is, I wanted to say... Is that gravy in your hair?"

Astoria shook her head. "Pardon?"

Hermione leaned over and picked at the blonde girl's hair. "You've got gravy in your hair. How did you manage that?"

"Food fight. Draco doesn't always play nice." She shrugged.

"Doesn't surprise me," Hermione said. Not in the slightest.

"Uh, you were saying?" prompted Astoria.

"Right. Well. I realized I hadn't thanked you for saving my life. So. Thanks."

The blonde girl bit her lip. "'Course, 'Mione."

"And I also wanted to say..." Hermione sighed. "That you should give Ron some time, but that I think it will be okay. You two, I mean. It just takes him a while to process stuff. He still cares about you, you know."

"I know," whispered Astoria.

Hermione nodded. "He's taking this remarkably well, I'd say. I mean, after Fred died, he had to mature pretty quickly. But seeing him now... he's so grown up." She looked at her hands. "I didn't handle all of this with as much grace. Or any, l suppose. Guess I have some growing up to do myself."

"No, you reacted exactly how you should have. It was wrong of me, Hermione, and I'm so so sorry. Gods, I'm sorry. And I understand that you can't forgive me, but please, you need to stay. You need to get better, okay? I'll keep out of your way, I promise. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you about... about Ron. I should have told you last night. It's just... this thing between him and I, it's still new and I felt so guilty. But I do care about him." She sighed. "I'm just sorry you found out the way you did."

Hermione nodded once more. "I know that."

"Okay. Good." Astoria got up to leave the room, smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles on her school uniform's skirt.

"Eliz..." Hermione sighed. "Astoria." Merlin, that took some getting used to. That and the completely different appearance kept throwing her off. Not to mention the girl was two years younger than her. Which she had not known. "I meant what I said at the salon. I do still care about Ron, but not like that. I want him to be happy. And he seems to think that you're the one who can do that. I was with him for a year, which I'm sure seems like a long time in your eyes. But we were friends for years before that. And I think we may be able to be friends again."

"Okay."

"And us too. Friends, I mean. I just need..." she looked around the room, unsure of what to say.

"Some time. Yeah, I get it 'Mione." She smiled softly. "I am glad that you're here, no matter the circumstances. I used to imagine what it was like, you being around. I came looking for you because I wanted closure, because of Theo." She swallowed. "But as soon as I got to know you, I understood what the boys meant. You're a hard one to give up. You're easily missed."

Hermione smiled painfully. None of this was going to be simple. There was the history between Astoria and Theo, and the role that Hermione played there. There was the history between herself and Ron, and the new relationship he had with Astoria. And then there was the fact that there were two Slytherins living in Grimmauld Place, and she didn't have the first clue how to handle either of them. Slytherins. Ugh. She couldn't help going back in her mind through every conversation that she had had with Elizabeth, looking for subtext. Should she have guessed the truth? Had Elizabeth really been that careful? She wasn't sure. But either way, she missed her friend. It had only been a few days, but as she thought of the two of them together, arguing about fashion (boring), and books (fantastic), and drinking (bloody fun, but dangerous), she smiled wistfully. It had been so easy when Elizabeth was just Elizabeth, her best friend. Now their friendship had been revealed to be so much more complicated, she didn't know what to expect. But she missed Elizabeth. That was for certain.

Hermione ate her dinner and settled down in bed with a book. She read until her eyes grew heavy, and when the book's binding hit her on the forehead, she knew it was time to call it a night. As she lay in the dark, she thought of her friends. It would work out, she decided. Eventually. That night Hermione dreamt of second chances. For all of them.


	45. Damaged

Hermione's feet felt wooden as she plodded down the staircase. She still hurt everywhere, although not as badly as she did yesterday, and she felt worlds better than she had the day before that. A good night's sleep had done small miracles. The smell of sizzling bacon drew her out of her room, however, and her mouth watered just thinking of the first bite.

She stopped suddenly at the sight of Draco Malfoy flipping pancakes with ease and bobbing his head to the music coming through the radio. He was singing along, she realized. Muggle music. He seemed to know it by heart. Strange, strange, strange.

"Morning," she said. He jumped and she muffled a snort. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't," he said, though it was more than obvious that she had. "Hungry?"

"Starved. I could smell the bacon all the way up in the attic."

"Good. There's a lot of it, so be ready to eat up. I woke up famished for some reason. There's coffee in the pot," he pointed, "and milk or cream in the fridge."

She helped herself to a cup of coffee, adding a bit of whipped cream on a whim. She was pretty sure Malfoy was planning on using it on the pancakes, but a fancy coffee sounded delicious. She reached up into a high cupboard for some cinnamon and groaned in pain. Fire coursed through her shoulder and her back, and she cradled her arm, breathing through the feeling. That had not been a good idea.

"Here, I've got it," Draco said, coming up behind her. She could feel the heat from his body against hers, and the smell of his freshly-washed hair filled her nostrils. Same shampoo she'd used two days in a row. Her skin flushed at his proximity and she quickly ducked out of the way, fixing her hair as she purposefully looked anywhere but at the Slytherin.

"Take a seat, food'll be ready in a moment." He balanced the plate of bacon and the stack of pancakes on one hand and grabbed the maple syrup with the other. Carefully setting the food down on the long kitchen table, he poured some syrup into a glass carafe and walked over the microwave.

Hermione watched in amazement as Draco Malfoy worked a microwave. It was such a simple act, so pedestrian, but it surprised her. She would have bet a hefty sum that if the Malfoy heir wanted something heated, he would have used a charm. But no, he was using a Muggle invention. She shook her head in awe, and he caught the movement out of the corner of his eye.

"What?"

"Nothing." She smirked into her coffee.

"What? Seriously."

"I don't know how to take you. You're... quite different from the boy I knew in school, that's all. Harry said so, but it's just... weird."

"You didn't know me in school. And I didn't know you. Not really." He busied himself with the syrup and grabbed a bowl of powdered sugar before setting both on the table.

Hermione frowned. "I knew you well enough."

"You knew Malfoy, the prat who took everything his parents said as doctrine. Who believed that Muggleborns were inferior and unworthy of magic. Who believed that money and power were the ultimate goal. But you don't know me, Granger. Not at all."

"Well you don't know me either, then."

"I know," he said, looking at her as if she were daft. "I just said that. Merlin, you're a poor listener. How did you manage to get all those high marks?"

"You're just sore that I bested you in every class. Mudblood like myself." She was going for a light tone, but it didn't work. Every bit of anger was evident in her voice, and she hated herself for being so transparent. Still, he had hurt her back in school. She hadn't forgotten.

He grumbled and reached for a piece of bacon.

"What was that?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"No, seriously. What did you say?"

"I said," he spoke from between gritted teeth, "don't call yourself that."

"Why? You never seemed to have a problem with it in the past." She drew up her sleeve. "It's carved right here on my skin, so I'll always remember."

He reached for her arm before she had a chance to snatch it back. He drew his thumb over the faint scar slowly, feeling the slight rise of the skin. The blemish was almost completely faded, but he had watched his aunt cut the word into her flesh, so he knew what to look for. Mudblood.

"I," he swallowed noisily, "I didn't realize it had scarred. Thought they would have taken care of it quick enough."

"Yeah, well, there were other things happening. Dobby dying, for one."

He nodded. "I could take a look at it, if you'd like. The scar. I've been working on a potion." He held out his arm and pushed up his sleeve. "It's almost gone. Well, it's really faded." He traced along the edge of the barely visible Dark Mark. "It'll never be gone. Not really."

Hermione grabbed his arm without thinking and her fingertips lightly touched upon the mark. She should have noticed its absence yesterday, but she hadn't. "That's remarkable. It's so light. What did you use?"

His skin burned where her fingers touched, but it was a pleasant burn. A disconcerting burn. A very, very bad, very good burn. "Dittany as the base, but I've used some Muggle stuff as well. Aloe vera, vitamin E, a drop of tea tree oil. I found the best way so far is to take potion internally in conjunction with casting a healing spell and then lightly massaging the area. The potion works inside, the spell works outside, and the massage promotes blood flow, which helps break up the blemish. Seems to work well, although I'm still tweaking it."

She nodded. It was a clever mix of magical and Muggle ideas. Once again, he'd surprised her.

They ate the rest of their breakfast in silence, which Hermione was thankful for. She had been honest when she said she didn't know how to take Malfoy. It seemed that losing his family and living with Ron and Harry really had made an impact. She wondered how much of the boy she had known in school still remained. Obviously he was very capable of being snarky and sometimes cutting, but she didn't hear the old venom in his words. She'd have to observe him a bit more carefully to really suss out what he was all about.

They were putting away their dishes when he spoke again. "So, you want to try it out?"

"Hmm?" she asked, confused. She'd been lost in her thoughts, reliving simpler times. Now that she was at Grimmauld Place, there wasn't a whole lot of reason to squelch the good memories. They were all around her. It was the bad memories she was worried about.

"Your scar. Do you want me to see if I can make it go away? We have to do some magic on you anyway; you went all night without it. Harry says that direct magic will help more than indirect magic. So if I do a spell on you, it will affect your magic faster than if you were just hanging around someone who was doing magic. Does that make sense?"

She nodded. She'd figured as much.

"Okay. So, the scar?"

She nodded again. May as well try.

"Excellent!" He beamed and then remembered himself. "I mean, that will be helpful. I've only tried it on myself, so it will be good to have another test subject."

"Is it safe?" What was she thinking, letting Draco Malfoy try an untested (he didn't count) potion on her? She must be out of her bloody mind.

"Safe as houses. Everything in it is perfectly harmless. It's the potion-making process that imbues fairly common ingredients with magical properties. There is no innate magic in the ingredients themselves." Hermione tried to hide a smile unsuccessfully. "What? What did I say?"

"Nothing," she waved him away. "It's just that... well, that's what I must have sounded like in school. Very textbook."

Draco smiled back at her. "You were much, much worse, thank you very much." She laughed lightly, and he flushed. He had made her laugh. Again. It was... nice.

She followed him into the small laboratory that had been set up in the basement. She didn't remember the room being there, so it was either added magically or there had been some serious renovations. She was just glad it wasn't in Kreacher's quarters. Too many bad memories.

Draco mistook her shiver of dread for a chill and magically turned up the temperature in the room. She was comforted by the small gesture, even if he'd been mistaken. If he was worried she was cold, he wasn't going to try a dangerous potion on her. She thought.

"Look, Malfoy, before we start, I want you to know that I'm trying really hard here to trust you, even if it goes against my better judgment. Harry trusts you, so that should be good enough for me. Just don't do anything stupid, okay?"

He sighed, exasperated. "Thank you ever so much for the goodwill gesture, Granger. Although your trust sounds an awful lot like distrust." He cleared a nearby table and gestured. "Go on, hop up. I'll get the potion."

She obeyed and watched as he made his way across the room and carefully selected the correct bottle. He handed it to her with a warning ("It has a bit of a bite on the way down,") and she swallowed it in one gulp.

"Ugh! That's terrible!"

He smirked. "Told you. I've thought about adding peppermint. I think it would go along with the tea tree oil. What do you think?"

She shuddered. "Couldn't make it worse."

"Alright, enough with the complaining. Give me your arm." She reached her arm forward and he grasped it softly. He slowly bunched her sleeve up high enough to see the entirety of the damaged skin. "It's awful," he breathed, and she yanked her hand away. Tears pricked at the back of her eyes, and she cursed herself. She knew this was a bad idea. Stupid.

He reached for her again, grasping her arm firmly this time. "Stop. I don't mean the scar itself; honestly, it's not that bad. It's just," he searched for a proper explanation, one that wouldn't send her scurrying. "It's terrible. It was terrible, watching it happen. I'm sorry that I didn't try to stop it. It's just... my aunt, she was..."

"A bitch?" Hermione offered.

Draco laughed harshly. "Yeah. A evil bitch." He ducked his head, his shaggy blonde fringe hiding his eyes. "I was afraid of her."

"Me too," Hermione whispered and looked up into light fixture overhead, blinking back tears. She was doing her best not to relive the memory. The violation.

"Just so you know, I haven't used that word since I defected. Before that, even."

Why was he telling her this? Neither was sure.

He pointed his wand at the scar and looked into her face, waiting for consent. She nodded silently, and the words of the spell poured from his mouth. When the spell had been cast, he wrapped both hands around her arm and manipulated the skin with his thumbs. She closed her eyes, unwilling to watch. His touch felt too intimate, the memories of Bellatrix Lestrange felt too real, and she desperately wished she could go back in time, back to the forest where she and her boys had been captured. She'd fight harder this time, they'd be safer, more careful. She wouldn't get caught and they'd find a way to defeat Voldemort without sacrificing their innocence in the process. She'd find her way back, back to the girl she had once been. The girl that believed that right and wrong were easily definable. The girl that believed in happily ever after. Or least believed that all could be well.

Draco watched her, his thumbs mindlessly pushing and pulling at her flesh. He felt the pain pouring off of her in waves. The fear, the anger. He gasped quietly as visions of Harry and Ron running through a forest flashed before him. Granger didn't move, so she must not have heard him. Images appeared in his mind and then left just as quickly. Scabior's face twisted in perverse pleasure. Large iron gates, a marble floor, his aunt Bellatrix screaming. And his face, so much younger, full of fear. The terror flooded his body, and he shook with the onslaught of emotion. She was projecting without realizing, he was sure of that. As an accomplished Legilimens, he was sensitive to projection. He hadn't practiced the art of Legilimency in so long that he had read her without meaning to. He dropped Hermione's arm and looked at the girl. Her face was pointed up towards the ceiling and her shoulders were shaking. Tears poured from her closed eyes, and he knew his own cheeks were stained as well. Without thinking, he put his arms around her and drew her close. "Shhhh, you're safe, you're here. Bellatrix is dead. She can't hurt you now."

Hermione's eyes flew open and the memories stopped. She gulped back sobs, fully aware that Draco Malfoy was hugging her. His hand was rubbing her back and he was whispering words of comfort in her ear. She knew it was strange, even wrong, but her arms reached around him and she embraced him until she could breathe easily once more.

He pulled back and looked at her carefully. He thumbed away a tear and stared. "I'm sorry."

She nodded. "I know."

He stepped away and looked around awkwardly. He had comforted her because he had felt like it was the only thing he could do, but it didn't make the accompanying silence any less tense. It was Astoria's fault, really. The old Draco Malfoy didn't hug people. Astoria had changed that, had been adamant about it. A hug for hello, one for 'I'm sorry,' one for 'I forgive you,' one for 'it will all be okay.' He was too used to Astoria, that was all. He saw a woman in pain and in need of comfort, and there they went, his arms encircling before he could stop them.

Hermione concentrated on her breathing and willed the tears to end. She hadn't meant to fall apart like that. Still, she hadn't had a panic attack, so perhaps the magical therapy was working. She glanced down at her arm and gasped. "It's gone."

Draco walked forward and looked at perfectly smooth skin that covered the place where a scar had once marred her flesh. "So it is."

"Thank you," she said, her voice hoarse and earnest.

"You're welcome." He turned around so she couldn't read the confusion on his face.

"So," she said awkwardly. "All of these potions, what are you going to do with them?" She was desperate for conversation, anything to make the both of them forget the far too intimate moment they had just shared.

"Well, eventually, I'd like to have my own lab. It's a work in progress right now. I've got a partner who helps me out with harvesting the plants and knowing which strains to grow. We're hoping to get the business off the ground in a few months, actually."

"Wow, that's impressive." She meant it, too. Malfoy had always been good at Potions, so it was nice to see him trying to make something of himself, not just subsisting on his parents' wealth. "What are you working on right now?"

"Well, the scar potion, for one. I think that one's just about done, once I add the peppermint oil. We've got some stuff to cure chronic halitosis; George Weasley is interested in selling that one at his shop. And we're working on something to help out those who suffer from lycanthropy."

"You're going to help werewolves?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"Hoping to. As of the last full moon, we've managed to make the change completely painless, but the real goal is to stop the it entirely. The potion is difficult to test, though, since many sufferers are unwilling to come forward and run the risk of exposing themselves as werewolves. Add that to the fact that we can only test once a month, plus the unfortunate circumstance of my incredibly unpopular name being on the product... let's just saw we've got more negatives than positives."

Hermione nodded. "Still, imagine the possibilities... that would save innocent lives, Draco. Not to mention greatly improve the quality of life for those who suffer the ailment. Merlin, it would be fantastic!"

He laughed, hoping she didn't notice his reddening cheeks. She'd called him Draco, although she obviously had not noticed. Still... it felt damn good. Maybe she was forgiving him, after all. "Yeah, I know. Anyway, it's a long ways off. We've got a lot of work left to do. Mostly brainstorming different ways to keep the disease at bay. If you were interested, we could use your insight."

"I can't."

"Why not? With your knowledge we'd be miles ahead of where we are now. You don't even have to do magic, I'll take care of that part." He had been thinking of ways to get her involved the second he had mentioned the potion. Granger had fought for creature species rights back at Hogwarts, and he knew that she had been close to Remus Lupin. He couldn't imagine why she'd turn down the chance to really make a difference.

"I'm sorry, but no," she responded, hopping off the table.

"I don't understand how you can say no to something like this. If Lupin was alive, you'd help. I know you would."

Hermione stalked towards him and reached back to smack him, but he was too quick and he caught her arm. "How dare you! How dare you speak of him. You didn't even know him. You think you're one of us, just because you live here. But you're not. And you never will be." She tried not to care when she saw his face fall and his eyes harden.

"Neither are you," he bit out. "Not anymore. You left. You abandoned your friends and your magic, and you just fucking left. Do you know what it was like here? Harry was heartbroken, and don't even get me started on Weasley. He was devastated. I have never seen a man that broken. He was barely living until Harry finally got him to snap out of it. You act so damn pious, like you're still a part of all of this, but you don't even know what Teddy Lupin looks like. I do. I know what he calls his stuffed bear, and I know what his favorite color is. Because I have been here. So don't tell me I'm not good enough to speak that name."

Hermione wrenched her arm back and sneered. "Why don't we just lay it all out on the table, Malfoy? Come on, tell me what you really think about me. Because even if you have changed, you're still a pompous asshole who thinks he's better than everyone else. So, please, tell me how you feel about babysitting a Mudblood."

"UHHH!" Draco screamed in frustration. Forget the strange hugging incident; the stupid witch was going to drive him mad if he had to be around her one second more. "Fine! I will tell you exactly what I think about you. I think you're pathetic, Granger. You had this amazing gift of magic, and you threw it all away. Do you know what I'd do to have power like you do? To have that kind of knowledge? I studied my arse off in school, and it was never enough. All I heard every holiday was that you were better than me. I'm a Malfoy, and a Muggleborn bested me time and again. My father never let me forget it. And yeah, shit happened during the war, I understand that, but if you can't deal with it and get on with your life, you're worthless. You're so bloody scared that you waste any potential you were given. Astoria tells me you're studying at a Muggle university, and not even a good one at that. You're fucking playing Muggle when you could be making a real difference in the world. You could do so much but you do nothing, because you're afraid. I used to think you were the perfect Gryffindor, and I do not mean that as a compliment, but I see now that I was wrong. Because you're not brave. You're a scared little girl, and it's a waste." He shook his head. "Such a bloody waste."

Hermione was shaking with fury. "How dare you? You don't know the first thing about what I went through! You have no idea how brave I had to be."

"Then SHOW me! Make me understand what was so bad that you'd swear off magic forever." He stalked towards her and she raised a hand to ward him off.

"Stop it. Don't come any closer."

"I mean it, Granger. Show me what was so terrible, or I swear, I won't do another spell around you. You can go to the Healers at St. Mungo's for all I care."

"I said stop it."

"What are you going to do, slap me? Such a big, bad witch. So scary." He stepped closer. "Show me."

She shook her head. "No."

He was right in front of her now. "Make me understand. Please. It won't make me think poorly of you; I don't think I could think less of you if I tried." The words were cruel but his tone was not. "I already know most of it. Harry told me when I moved in."

"He did?" She was surprised, but not necessarily angry. Nott was Malfoy's friend; it would be hard to keep up a lie, especially when they were in such close quarters. He deserved to know what happened.

"Yeah. Story knows too."

Hermione's face crumbled. "She does?"

Draco nodded. "Just the basics, but yeah. She knows." He scuffed his toe on the ground and looked away. "Have you shared it with anyone? Really shared it, I mean?"

She shook her head, all the energy her anger had provided zapped from her body. More than anything she wanted to go upstairs to her bed and hide for days. Because Malfoy had been right. She was pathetic, and the shame burned her from the inside. "Harry... he saw what happened when I was captured."

"Yeah, he told me."

"Really?" She quirked her head. Maybe Harry and Malfoy were closer than she had realized.

"Yeah. Did it... did it feel as bad, once someone knew?"

"At first, it was worse," she admitted. "But then, after I was done reliving it... I felt lighter, I guess. Like it wasn't a burden I had to shoulder alone."

He pursed his lips. "Listen, neither of us really likes the other. So what's the harm in sharing the burden with me? I already think you're rubbish," he joked, knowing it wasn't completely true. "So it's not like it's going to hurt our friendship. And maybe... maybe if I know why you won't do magic, it will make this easier. The spending time together bit."

She considered all of his words and nodded slowly. "I think it's a bad idea, but if means you'll continue treating me with magic... well, I guess I don't have a lot to lose. I don't want to go to St. Mungo's, and I don't want any more people to see me like this, if I can help it. I just want to get well and go home."

He nodded and motioned for her to climb back onto the table with him. Sitting cross-legged, they faced one another. "If it gets too much for you, just say 'Enough,' and I'll stop, okay?""

She nodded. "Okay."

Draco looked Hermione in the eyes and raised his wand. "Legilimens." Scattered scenes flew through his mind, and he closed his eyes against the onslaught. "Concentrate, Granger. Start at the beginning."

The beginning. Where was the beginning? Hermione could feel Malfoy in her mind, a solid presence not pushing, just waiting. Not knowing exactly when to start, she went back to the Battle of Hogwarts. Once she had given him a frame of reference, he was able to sort through her memories quickly, and the chaos of the fight enveloped her once more. She could smell the blood and the dust in the air, she could feel the fear coursing through her veins. Thankfully, Malfoy was shifting through the scenes quickly, trying to find the ones that stuck out the most. Those were the ones that had affected her strongest. She saw Fred Weasley's body, saw Harry and Voldemort locked in battle, and then she watched both of them fall, unconscious. She felt the despair that had coursed through her when she had thought Harry dead, and then the relief when it became obvious that he was breathing. She revisted the funerals of her friends, and she keenly felt the losses once more. She saw Andromeda holding little Teddy, so incredibly small, and she felt ashamed that she had barely thought of the little boy in two years. He must be so big now.

"He is," Draco responded, "and his hair changes colors every minute. I swear, you can set your watch by it."

She started. She'd forgotten he was there for a moment, helping to orchestrate this ride down memory lane.

"Come on, Granger. Concentrate."

She relived the first days after the battle at the school, and the emptiness that filled her. She saw Ron, utterly despondent and alone. She saw herself comforting him, holding him. Saw herself leading him into her bedroom, and then slowly pulling off his shirt...

"Okay, Granger, enough of that."

"Sorry," Hermione blushed. Gods, that was embarrassing.

"For me too, believe me," he complained.

She groaned. This was awful.

Then, visions of her studying flowed between them, and Hermione recognized the Dark Arts books with shame. Fast forward to her standing outside of Hogwarts, on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. She knew which day this was. There she was on her back, his boot on her face. And then the dungeon, strung up on the wall. She could feel her throat dry from thirst, her body weak from hunger. And Nott, always Nott, filling her vision. And even though she knew that it wasn't really Theo, she hated him. Nott cutting his name into her abdomen. Nott plying her with food and then hurting her. Nott making her see visions of her best friends dying. And then salvation, because Harry and Ron were there, they had found her.

But then... she was back at Grimmauld Place, in that small, dark room. She was torturing Nott, waterboarding him. And he was saying terrible things, and now that she watched it again, she saw the difference in his eyes, saw his expressions changing as he fought against the curse. The vision of him and Malfoy in Nott Manor, the realization that it was Voldemort all along. But it was too late, because he was dead.

She was crying again, tears weaving down her cheeks, but she didn't notice. She was back there, back in the nightmare. It surrounded her.

The conversation with Harry in the attic. The bloodstones. The battle. Fighting all around her. Trying her best to protect the ones that she loved. And then the time spell, and she was killing them like a barbarian, the knife penetrating organs and flesh. The blood spilling all around. And Ron was looking at her, and he didn't know yet. He didn't know. She was still whole in his eyes. Except for Nott, she was (mostly) whole.

Michael Corner, and Zacharias Smith. Harry hurting on the floor, his arm so badly damaged. Harry and Voldemort, locked in battle once more. Her blood pouring down, weakening the Dark Lord without the aid of magic. Just belief. But always so much blood. And finally, finally, Voldemort dead. Running to her friends, checking on their safety. Collapsing. And then home. The rooftop. Hearing Ron's words, so hurt, so angry. Getting up once he'd fallen asleep, hugging herself and trying not to feel. Please god do not let me feel. Let me be silent and broken but don't let me feel. I'd rather die. I'd rather die. I'd rather die.

"Enough." The words flew out of Draco's mouth before he could stop them. They hung in the air between them, and Hermione was watching him, just watching, as the tears poured down her cheeks.

She waited for him to shrink away in pity, or fear, or disgust. Waited to be rejected, her history too bleak for another to witness. He wouldn't help her, not now. He knew everything.

He felt her shutting down. She was pulling away, but they were still connected. He made a split-second decision while he still could, and he sent her the memory of Penelope Clearwater. Her broken body, ravaged from so many Dark curses. Her eyes looking up at him, begging him to end it. The secret spell he cast so she'd slip into unconsciousness. Then a quick snap of her neck, and she was dead. The curses he cast on her corpse, the way he had to make it look real. And then the aftermath when he was alone, when he couldn't contain the pain. He'd howled into his pillow that night, the sobs shaking the whole bed. He'd hated himself. The feeling has lessened, but he still knew who he was. A monster. The evidence was there on his flesh, the mark that wouldn't fade, not completely. Maybe not ever.

He opened his eyes and met hers. She didn't look away. 'Do we understand each other now, Granger?' he thought. She nodded, and he severed the connection. She didn't say a word, just stared at him, waiting. No real expression on her face, just exhaustion. Resignation.

Draco's eyes followed a single tear as it made the trek from the corner of her eye down her cheek. It landed at her lip, and delved inside. And then for the second time, he was leaning towards her and taking her in his arms, and she hugged him back, and he held on tighter than he thought could be possible. His hands rubbed her back, his lips parted to offer hushes and comforting murmurs. And then he pulled back and looked into her watery whiskey-colored eyes, and he couldn't help it, but his lips touched hers, and she didn't pull away.


	46. Disdain

It lasted two, maybe three seconds. Nothing serious, just the soft press of lips against lips. Just an innocent kiss.

They pulled apart and Hermione looked down at her hands before whispering, "Think I'll go to my room and read a bit." She lowered herself off the table and walked out the door.

And promptly began to freak out.

The walk up the stairs was punctuated by the sound of her heart pounding. Her pulse was racing, her cheeks were flushed, and the really scary part was that she wasn't sure if it was the kiss, or... the kiss. The frenzy overtaking her body, was it a bad reaction, or a good one? And if it was a good one... well, that was very, very bad indeed.

Because it was Draco Malfoy. Malfoy, who had made her life hell during school. He was a former Death Eater for Merlin's sake, and yeah, he'd defected, and sure, he'd protected Astoria, and well, he'd apparently (according to Harry) outed almost every single Death Eater and helped put the majority of them away for life in Azkaban... but no. Still bad. Very, very bad.

And what was with the hugging? And the whispered comforts, and the touching, and the...

No. Very bad.

He must be playing at something, she told herself. He had an ulterior motive, something very malevolent and evil. It probably involved hurting puppies, or something like that. She wasn't thinking straight, exactly, but whatever the plan was, it was not good. Malfoy and his evil plan.

Except that he'd shown her the memory of Penelope Clearwater. And he hadn't needed to do that, it was obviously extremely personal, and he could have kept it hidden. "It's part of his plan," she whispered to herself. And then a deeper, quieter voice inside asked, 'Do you really think he could fake that sort of sorrow and guilt?' She knew he couldn't. She'd felt it, just as strongly as she'd felt her own guilt as he had perused her darkest secrets. He'd hated himself, and he'd been brutally honest about it.

But why had he kissed her?

She shook her head and found her way to the attic, plopping herself down on the bed. Her hands were fidgety and she couldn't stop the train of thoughts racing through her mind. But she wasn't hyperventilating, and she wasn't shaking, and those were very good things. So maybe she wasn't freaking out, not really. She felt in control, actually. In some ways she was clearer than she'd felt in weeks. Maybe reliving her previous horrors had done her some good after all.

Had it?

Hermione forced herself to recall those long weeks held prisoner, and she shook at the memories, but they felt... dimmer, somehow. She decided to test her theory more strenuously, and she recalled the time spell; that was the moment that things had really changed. She had made a decision to go all the way with hers and Harry's plan, and she'd picked up the knife. The first slice into flesh signed her name as judge and executioner. She'd handed them their deaths, even those who didn't deserve it. She wanted to vomit, but even that memory... it was fuzzy around the edges. Not as gut-wrenching. So maybe it had helped, sharing it.

But Malfoy still knew everything, and that was dangerous.

She made up her mind then and there to stay away from Draco Malfoy whenever possible. He stirred up too many complications. She'd submit to the magical therapy for just as long as was necessary, and then she'd keep out of his way.

'But he has the food,' her stomach reminded her with a growl. It was almost lunch time, and she was already starving. Kreacher had been placed on permanent retirement, it seemed, and she couldn't summon food from the kitchen. She'd just have to wait out the day and then sneak down to the kitchen at night. It wasn't an ideal plan, but it would have to do.

She laid down, intent on sleeping away the hunger, but her mind still raced. Giving up on her nap, she got up from the bed and paced the room, feeling incredibly couped up now that she'd made the decision to stay upstairs. The room wasn't that big; there was barely enough space to take more than seven or eight steps in any direction, once you accounted for the furniture. She made the best of it, though, wearing an invisible path into the hard wood below her feet. "I'll read," she said aloud, and then remember with a blush her last words to Malfoy.

'Think I'll go to my room and read a bit.'

She groaned. Not exactly what one would expect to hear, given the situation. Gods, she was awkward, and it wouldn't be any easier to talk to the Ferret now. He'd kissed her.

And maybe, maybe she'd kissed back a little.

(He tasted like maple syrup, pancakes and rich, black coffee).

She shook her head. No, no more thoughts like that.

Kneeling down to look at the many books on the shelf, she recognized some familiar bindings. Her old journals! They were there on the shelf for all the world to see. She knew that Harry would respect her privacy, and she had to believe that Ron would as well. Astoria didn't seem to be the snooping sort, but Malfoy... she wondered.

Grabbing the stack, she made her way back to the bed and spread out. She thumbed through the closest book. It was from second year, and she smiled as she read about Ron and Harry disobeying school rules, and she laughed at her younger self's obvious disapproval.

She then found herself looking through the journal she'd kept from first year. She read the pages slowly, noticing that although her penmanship had needed some work, her spelling was impeccable, even then. Hermione sighed as she read about her first few months as a witch. She had appeared so self-assured and confident upon entering Hogwarts, but it was mostly a farce. More often than not, she was astounded that magic even existed. And she was a witch! She could control things, move things with her will and her wand and her words. She wrote page after page about the wonderful things her professors could do, and her adult-self traced a finger over the letters. 'When I grow up, I will be a wise and powerful witch like Professor McGonagall. I will help people and I will know everything there is to know about magic. I will make a difference.' She choked back tears unsuccessfully, the words moving her unexpectedly.

It had seemed so dazzling back then, magic. It wasn't scary, it was beautiful. It had been so long since magic had seemed beautiful to her.

She placed the journals in her bedside table drawer and laid down on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest. She missed it, the beauty.

And sometimes, she missed the magic.

* * *

Granger didn't come down for lunch, and she didn't come down for dinner, either. Astoria had asked about it, of course.

"Did you and 'Mione have a row?"

Draco shrugged, his hands soapy as he rinsed off a dish. "Something like that, I guess."

"Draco! You need to be nice to her, you're not in school any longer."

"Why do you automatically assume I'm the one at fault?" he asked.

She just gave him a knowing look and so he threw up his hands and stomped away in a huff. Astoria gazed about the room and continued cleaning up what little mess was left from dinner. As she opened the fridge to put back the butter, she noticed a dinner plate made up nice and neat. She smirked and grabbed it. Obviously he'd been the one at fault; why else had Draco taken the time to make Hermione her own plate instead of just leaving the leftovers as is?

Yeah, he was definitely the one to blame.

* * *

"Uh... who is it?" Hermione called.

"S'me," Astoria answered from behind the closed door.

Hermione sighed. At least it wasn't Malfoy. "Come on in, then."

Astoria bounced into the room and placed a plate on the bedside table. Hermione's mouth watered at the smell; lasagna and asparagus. It looked amazing.

"Draco said you two had a row," Astoria explained, "and that's why you skipped supper. I figured you'd be starving by now, so I thought I'd bring this up to you."

"That's very nice of you, but you really didn't have to go to all the trouble. I would have come down eventually." Later, she added silently, when you were both sleeping.

"Oh it wasn't that much trouble, not really. Draco made the food and plated it and all, I just heated it up and walked up the stairs. But I'm willing to take his credit." She grinned mischievously and Hermione laughed. And then remembered that she was still somewhat upset with the girl. She knew she'd have to get over it eventually, but she'd asked for time, and she needed it. More than that, she wanted it. Astoria may have had decent intentions, but what she had done was still wrong. If only Hermione could remember that. It was getting more and more difficult to separate the smiling blonde girl in front of her from the girl she'd known for over a year. She knew they were the same person, of course, but it was easier to think of Elizabeth as her friend and Astoria as someone who had purposefully deceived her for such a long time.

Astoria had obviously sensed her mood because she just smiled and said goodnight, closing the door behind her.

* * *

It was hard ignoring someone when they were always around. For the next day and a half, Hermione said little to nothing to Malfoy, and he seemed content on treating her the same. She wondered what he felt. Revulsion? The kiss had obviously not been well thought-out, and he was probably kicking himself now. Pity? It was possible. But she supposed that if she had to choose, she'd pick shame. He had kissed a Muggle-born, and one who wasn't even practicing magic at that. It was obviously a judgment flaw, and if his silence was any indication, he was hating himself now.

So they went about their hours quietly, the air between them thick with uncomfortable tension. Neither mentioned the kiss, or even alluded to it. Malfoy preformed random spells around Hermione, and when the tension got really bad, he would preform magic directly on her, usually in the form of simple levitation charm (although he never raised her more than an inch or two off the ground, really). As soon as her feet hit the ground, she'd be out the door and back in her bedroom before he even had time to process what had happened.

It was just after ten o'clock at night when Hermione softly padded down the stairs in her stocking feet in search of food. It had been two days, but she still refused to take her meals with Malfoy. It left far too much room for conversation, eating together, especially when Astoria came home late. As she reached the last landing before the basement, she heard quiet voices coming from the living room. She refused to look in their direction for fear of having to talk to both Malfoy and Astoria at the same. She was being incredibly childish, she knew that, but it seemed like it would be just a little too much for her to deal with right now. She felt her anger as Astoria slipping each day, no matter how much she tried to hold on to her righteous indignation. Really, she just wanted her friend back, and that bothered her a bit. She should be more upset about Astoria's deceit, she thought; she hated being so lonely that it was all she could do not to run to the other girl and go back to the way things used to be. But that wasn't an option, or at least not a good one. It was side-stepping the issue, and that wasn't right. So instead she continued down to the kitchen.

She noted with a wry grin that another plate of food was set up for her and sitting in the fridge. She examined it closely and groaned. It had been Malfoy who had served up her dinner tonight, not Astoria; of course it was him. He knew she hated olives, she'd complained about it at random one morning when she's first moved in (had it really been only a week?), and her portion of homemade pizza was littered with the black things.

She stomped up the stairs, debating whether or not to confront Malfoy. On one hand, he'd potentially ruined a perfectly good piece of pizza with a disgusting so-called food, but on the other hand... Well, on the other hand, he made dinner and was nice enough to dish it up for her, even if he knew she wouldn't love it. So maybe confrontation wasn't the best idea.

Hermione once more refused to look in the living room (wouldn't give Malfoy the satisfaction of seeing her disgusted face at the presence of the nasty black olives on her plate) and had one foot on the staircase when she heard a familiar voice.

"Blimey, Hermione Granger, is that you?"

She turned slowly and she couldn't help it, but the grin split her face wide and the pizza was forgotten. "Neville Longbottom, what on earth are you doing here?"

He crossed the room quickly and picked her up into a huge bear hug. He swung her around, narrowly avoiding her dinner plate. "I could ask you the exact same thing! When did you... why... I mean... how exactly?" He stopped and smiled. "Merlin, Hermione, it's damn good to see you." He pulled back to look at her and stepped away, blushing slightly as he remembered himself.

"It's good to see you too, Neville. Really good, actually. So what are you doing here?"

"I asked you first."

"No you didn't, I did."

"Well I'm here more often than you by far, so I win."

She gazed at him, a puzzled look drawing lines between her eyes. "Really? You're here often?" He nodded. "Well I'm not here to stay, but I will be here for a month, probably. I... well, I've been away from magic for a while, and it's affecting me. Negatively, that is. So I'm here to soak in it, I suppose." She smiled brightly, and it was obviously false.

"Away from magic? I mean, I knew you left to find your parents and reconnect with them, but your magic... I don't understand. You're never away from it, not really."

"You are when you stop using it ."

Draco grunted. "Guess that's not completely true or she wouldn't be here."

Astoria punched him and he groaned. "S'true, isn't it? Her magic was escaping whether she liked it or not. Can't deny your true self like that without expecting serious issues."

Neville's head whipped back from Draco to Hermione. "What does he mean, Hermione? Are you okay?"

She waved him off. "I'll be fine. It's just... a temporary set back. But I'm taking care of it."

"You mean I'm taking care of it," Draco mumbled.

Hermione ignored him. "So Neville, what brings you here tonight? I suppose you know that Harry and Ron are out on assignment."

"Oh yeah, I guessed that. I'm just here because it's Friday night." He shrugged.

"And that means...?" Hermione asked.

"It's our Buffy night."

Hermione looked at him, perplexed. "Wait... as in Buffy the Vampire Slayer? Are you honestly telling me that you watch that show? Here?"

He laughed. "'Course I watch it! Pretty girls saving the world, tortured-soul vampires, lots of strappy tank tops... What's not to like?" Draco just smirked and nodded in agreement.

"So you come here," Hermione gestured to her surroundings, "every Friday to watch a show about vampires with...?" She left the question hanging.

Neville smiled. "Well, most of the time it's Draco and I, although Astoria joins us most nights. Harry and Ron will sit in now and then, but they usually argue about the way magic is portrayed, whether vampires can have souls, that sort of thing. We tape it so we can fast-forward through the commercials, of course."

Hermione just stood there with her mouth open. Neville Longbottom came and watched telly with a couple of Slytherins. One Slytherin in particular that bullied him all throughout school. It was inconceivable.

Draco's smirk grew wider. "Close your mouth, Granger, you're likely to catch flies." He sat down on one of the couches and Astoria joined him. "You're welcome to join us, Granger, provided you can keep a bit more quiet than the other members of your Gryffindork trio."

She was about to say no when Neville sat down on the other couch and patted the seat beside him. "Come on Hermione, hang out with us. You might even enjoy the show!"

She hesitated, looking back between Neville and Draco, and then saw Astoria trying very hard not to laugh. A small smile fell over her face and she wordlessly made her way to the couches and sat next to Neville.

Draco pressed play and the video sprang to life. Hermione watched half-heartedly as she picked the olives off her slice of pizza. When every bit was finally removed, she took a big bite and was grateful to learn that they hadn't ruined the pizza.

She was down to her last bite when Malfoy spoke up. "Oh Granger, there was a slice without olives in the fridge, sort of towards the back. Did you not see it?" He asked innocently.

"Guess not," she sniffed, refusing to play his game.

The show wasn't as bad as it could have been, she supposed. It was totally inaccurate, however, as far as vampires were concerned, but that was to be expected from Muggle television. Every now and then she'd glance over to Draco and Astoria. He had spread out on the couch and his head lay on a pillow in Astoria's lap. The blonde girl was playing with the ends of his hair, although she seemed to be unaware of it. They looked content together. Their friendship was easy. Still, Hermione thought it inappropriate that they would be in such an intimate situation around other people. They both said they were just friends, she knew, but it was obvious that they were very comfortable touching. Hermione had had a somewhat similar relationship with Harry, she supposed. They hugged a lot, it was true. But still, the Slytherins were acting like this was their home or something.

Which, she supposed (when she was really honest about it), it was.

She had been staring at them for a while without really realizing it when Malfoy's eyes raised to meet hers. Silver-y gray and more intense than she would have expected giving their present tv-watching circumstance. She refused to look away first, feeling that it was a test. There was a definite challenge in Malfoy's eyes, and he broke eye contact first to slowly look her up and down, and then he met her gaze again. She blushed and turned away, but she didn't miss the teasing smirk that crossed his face.

When the show ended, Neville got up to leave, claiming fatigue.

"Nev, if you want to come by in the morning, say around 10, I've got some ideas to run past you regarding the lycanthropy potion." Draco's words were casual, but he was looking at Hermione.

"Wait," she said, addressing Neville, and definitely NOT Draco Malfoy. "You're Malfoy's business partner? The one who is so good with plants?"

He nodded, beaming.

"You didn't tell me that," she said to Malfoy.

"Didn't I?" he asked.

"No," she responded flatly.

"Would it change your mind about helping us?" Neville looked on excitedly.

"It doesn't change the fact that... No," she said, her voice firm.

Malfoy shrugged. "Well I guess that settles that, then."

"Guess so," she shot back.

"Oh come off it you two," Astoria interjected, suddenly pissed. Hermione jumped; she'd almost forgotten about the girl's presence, if truth be told. "This has been going on for days. Grow up. Just kiss and make up already, Salazar!" She turned and stomped out of the room.

"Guess that's my cue to go," said Neville. "I'll be round about ten. Good to see you again, Hermione." He stepped through the green fire and vanished.

Draco and Hermione were silent, both looking at the spot where their mutual friend (and wasn't that weird?) had been standing.

"I didn't think you'd be down until late. I know you don't want people to know you are here." The words sounded like an apology, but Malfoy's tone was anything but contrite.

"Not a big deal," Hermione shrugged. "It's Neville; I trust him."

Draco nodded. "So... about Astoria's advice?"

Hermione blushed. "What about it?"

"Shall we take it?" He took a step closer.

"You can't mean..." Hermione asked, incredulous.

He smirked. "I meant we should call a truce, Granger. My, where is your mind these days?"

She turned a darker red, if that was possible.

"That's what I meant, too," she said.

"Good," he replied. "Wouldn't want to cause unnecessary friction." His voice danced upon the last word, the faintest note of suggestion there. If she didn't know better (which she did, thank goodness), she might think he was flirting with her.

Which would be very, very bad indeed. No matter what the pixies in her stomach thought.

It was going to be a long month.


	47. Détente

Draco shouldn't tease her like that; he knew it. But the look on her face... gods, it gave him the most delicious sense of satisfaction. This was even better than when he used to taunt her in school. Back then she'd get angry or pouty, or worse, pissed (pissed enough to throw a punch), but now... Ever since that innocent kiss (because it had been innocent, even if his intentions at the current moment were not) she was always blushing and avoiding his gaze. It just encouraged him.

Draco went to bed with a smile on his face. He'd made up entire conversations with her while going about his bedtime routine. He'd thought of a real winner while brushing his teeth and he'd been unable to contain his smile when he thought of her reaction. The toothpaste had escaped his mouth and it ran down his chin, landing on his shirt. He brushed it away without a thought. He couldn't wait for tomorrow.

* * *

Morning came quickly, and Granger appeared the kitchen right before Neville was due to come over. It was a Saturday morning, so Story was home from school. Draco had made her favorite: chocolate chip pancakes. He figured it'd been a hard week for all of them, and as far as he knew, Story still hadn't spoken to the Weasel.

"Mmm, that smells good," Hermione said as she entered the room, stretching the sleep from her limbs. Draco allowed his eyes to wander over her body as she pulled it taut, and Hermione, seeing his gaze, hastily fixed her clothing and folded her arms.

"It should. It's chocolate and carbohydrates. It's hard to mess it up," said Draco.

"Ahhh, Ferret, don't sell yourself short. I'm sure you'll find a way." She smiled smugly and opened a cabinet, sifting through the many boxes of tea.

Deciding that he much preferred her blushing and uncomfortable to snarky, he stepped behind her and reached for a box of tea all the way on the top shelf, infiltrating her space. And there it was, the light flush creeping up her cheeks and touching upon her earlobes. He smirked and moved away. She was pretending that she hadn't noticed his proximity, but her entire body language had changed. And he was pretty sure her breathing had become more labored.

Yeah, he was definitely winning.

There was the familiar sound of the floo above and then voices. Neville lumbered down the stairs, followed closely by Astoria.

The pair of Slytherins and the pair of Gryffindors sat down at the table and made quick work of the pancakes. Hermione noticed again how comfortable the three were together; never in a million years would she have guessed that Neville and Draco would be business partners, much less friends. But the casual banter between them was one that truly spoke of friendship, and a good one at that.

"So, Nev," Draco spoke around a mouthful of pancakes, hoping to annoy Granger by copying her ex's poor table manners, "I've been thinking about our potion."

"Which one would that be?"

"The werewolf one. So adding the vamp plant to the already established wolfsbane seems to have totally made the monthly change painless, right?"

"I think we can safely say that by now, yes."

"Excuse me," Hermione interjected, looking only at Neville, "but 'Vamp Plant?' What on earth is that?"

"Dionaea Vampellia is the scientific name, but we call it Vamp Plant. It's a really nasty bugger that needs blood to survive. It's almost extinct, actually; it's only found in a small section of the Amazon rainforest, where there are enough unsuspecting insects and small animals around to feed on. It has incredible analgesic properties; Muggles haven't really found out about it yet, save for a few scientists who have just started work on it. A wizard came across it a couple years back, and I've read all of his studies on it. Seemed to be worth trying. I'm really glad we did, because it was the missing ingredient in our lycanthropy potion."

"That's incredible," said Hermione.

"Anyway," Draco rolled his eyes, "I was thinking we should get back to working on stopping the change completely. The next full moon is less than two weeks away, and we need to get some new mixes in the works if we're going to test them out."

"And how do you test them, exactly?" Hermione asked, honestly curious.

Neville answered. "We took out an ad in the Daily Prophet, promising complete discretion for any lycanthropy sufferers willing to try out a new potion to help alleviate the symptoms of the infection."

"Yeah, complete discretion and a tidy sum of money," Draco muttered.

"Oh please, Ferret, it's not like you don't have enough money to go around," Hermione snapped.

"For your information, Granger," Draco replied sweetly, "I haven't seen one red cent of my parents' money. I've been living off of my aunt's fortune, which is meager, at best. Apparently she and the Dark Lord shared her bank account, as well psychopathic tendencies."

"But surely your parents left you something?" Hermione asked.

"I wouldn't really know," Draco shrugged. "It's in Ministry hands at the moment."

"So why not file a complaint?"

"Why not worry more about your breakfast rather than my financial situation, hmm?" he said, halting the line of conversation entirely. "So," he said, turning back to Neville, "I was thinking we should try out some new ideas for the potion. We could add different ingredients, or perhaps research different methods of preparation. What do you think?"

"Excuse me," Hermione interrupted again, "but you just throw random things in these potions and then expect people to just try it? You could kill someone!"

Draco threw up his hands in frustration. "Dear gods, Granger, do you really think we'd do that? Even if you do think I'm that unethical, do you think we'd put our futures at risk for such a flawed methodology? There are spells you can cast in order to ensure that new potions won't be fatal. If anything, they probably just won't work. Worst case scenario, someone gets stuck between human and werewolf and has to wait out a really uncomfortable evening. We take precautions."

Hermione sniffed. "Well all right then."

"ANYWAY," he said, turning back to Neville who was watching the two with an air of amusement, "I was thinking we should try Antimony or Fluxweed. They're both used in Polyjuice potion, but I was thinking we could play with them a bit. You know, since Polyjuice turns one person into another for a short time, maybe we could use it to somehow keep someone from changing from human to wolf by reversing some steps in the Polyjuice preparation. What do you think?"

Neville paused to contemplate the idea, and then nodded. "Yeah, yeah I think it's worth a shot, definitely!"

Draco glanced over at Hermione, who looked for all the world as if she didn't care. He knew she was hanging on to every word, though.

"And Saccharum officinarum," Draco added, "to make it taste less terrible."

"No!" Hermione spoke, her hands coming down hard on the table, "That's sugar cane. Sugar renders the Wolfsbane potion completely ineffective. You'd just be wasting time and materials."

Draco smirked. "Thought you didn't want to help us, Granger."

She'd been had. He was never considering adding sugar cane. "For once in your life, Malfoy, you're right. I don't."

Astoria had kept silent for most of the discussion, too busy shoveling pancakes in her mouth at a somewhat alarming rate. "Give up now, 'Mione, he's just trying to pull your chain."

Hermione knew the younger girl was right. "Well then maybe you can help me with the magic today, Astoria? It would be wonderful not to spend my entire day with a nasty, rotten Ferret." She hissed at the older Slytherin who just smiled sweetly.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, I'd love to help you, but I have some errands to run today." Astoria shrugged apologetically.

"I could go with you. Please. You could do some spell on me and I could go with you and I could help. I'm great at errands. I could keep track of the list. I'm great at lists. Just please, get me out of this house. I've been locked up for a week now, and I'm about to go bloody bonkers."

Astoria laughed. If Hermione was begging this much, she must really be ready for a break. "Yeah, okay. Can you be ready in a half hour?"

Hermione nodded. "Definitely."

"Better be quick about it, Granger," Draco drawled, "Wouldn't want to be late, or you could kiss those shopping plans goodbye." He subtly raised an eyebrow and smirked at her, and she felt her cheeks flush again.

"Whatever, Malfoy," she muttered and stalked out of the room, followed closely by Astoria, who was grinning.

"So what's that about, then?" Neville asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You're flirting with her. Hermione Granger."

"No, I'm not. I'm pissing her off."

"I saw the way you were looking at her. You're doing a shit job of it, but that's flirting, mate." Neville smiled.

"And how would you know, Longbottom?" Draco snorted defensively.

"We both know I'm much luckier in the romance department than you are, Draco."

Draco groaned. He knew it was true. It was so very wrong, but it was true. "Merlin help us."

"The first step to winning a bird's heart is actually, you know, meeting one. That usually requires that one leave his house. Somehow you got one of the best ones delivered right to your door. You got lucky, mate.."

"Not yet," Draco mumbled. But the games were just beginning.

* * *

"Ready, 'Mione?" Astoria's voice was muffled through the door.

"Almost, come on in." Hermione was brushing her hair when Astoria entered. Her curls were loose and relaxed, and Astoria frowned as she watched her friend. She'd been over this with Hermione before; if she wanted her hair straighter, she needed to use a straight iron, or at least some hair product. The girl was incorrigible.

"Here, let me do it." Astoria grabbed the brush out of Hermione's hand and placed it in the pocket of her denims, and then rooted around in the Gryffindor's toiletry bag. She found a bottle of smoothing serum and pumped it twice, rubbing the slippery liquid over her hands. She worked it through Hermione's hair, and then softly brushed it through. She went to grab the straight iron to plug it in but stopped to snap her fingers. "Even better," she muttered, and she pointed her wand at Hermione's head and cast a simple beauty spell. The somewhat frizzy hair was now smooth as glass, and hung around Hermione's face in soft waves.

"Wow, how did you do that?" Hermione asked.

"Please," Astoria said, "I've known the basic beauty spells since before Hogwarts, even. Between my mum and my sister, it was sort of drilled into my mind."

"Ah," said Hermione. "I was sorry to hear about them. I mean, Harry told me about what happened. Have you really not spoken to your family since the war?"

Astoria shook her head.

"And what about school? I mean, how's that going?"

Astoria shrugged. "Better than last year, thankfully. I'm just glad they're letting me commute, and that it's almost over."

"But you have friends, right? I mean, there have to be some girls in your house that you get on with."

"There are some girls I talk to, yeah. No real friends, though. Acquaintances, I guess you'd call them? I talk to them in class, but it's not like we spend a lot of time doing each others hair or gossiping about boys, that sort of thing."

"Why not?"

Astoria thought for a moment. "Some of the girls in my year still look at me like I'm evil because I dated a Death Eater. And there are those girls that really are evil, and they look at me like I'm some sort of dark witch on the sly. There are some that are decent enough, but no one that I really click with, I guess."

"That sucks."

Astoria laughed at Hermione's bluntness. "Yeah, it does sort of. But I've got Draco, and Harry. Ginny, when she's around. I talk to Luna now and then, but I don't really get her."

"Luna?" Hermione asked, surprised.

"Yeah, she and George stop by the Burrow occasionally. I've never been out to their place, but Ginny says it's not as scary as one might expect."

"WAIT. Luna and George? George Weasley? As in... together?" Hermione couldn't believe her ears.

Astoria grinned. "Yeah, you didn't know? They got hitched a year ago."

"They're married?" screeched Hermione. "You have got to be joking."

"Serious, I promise. After Luna got out of hospital, George was hard pressed to leave her side. I think he was harboring a crush for a while before that; that's what Harry says, at least. They dated for a short while and then George proposed. He says he doesn't want to waste his life; he's got to live it for him and Fred, he says."

"Wow. Just... wow. Wait! What about Neville? He was sort of in love with Luna, I thought."

Astoria nodded. "Yeah, I think he was a little heartbroken at first. But he's made up for it." She smirked.

"And what does that mean, exactly?"

Astoria held up a hand. "So far he's dated Hannah Abbott, Cho Chang, Padma Patil, Lavender Brown, Katie Bell, and Susan Bones." She ticked each name off her left hand and then added Susan to the right. "And those are just the girls I know about. He's been enjoying his war-hero status."

Hermione just shook her head. "Neville Longbottom. I didn't think he had it in him."

The blonde Slytherin grinned wickedly. "From what I've heard, we've all underestimated him. Apparently, he's quite... impressive."

"No!" Hermione gasped and then giggled.

"That's what Ginny said, and she heard it from Lavender herself. Of course, I don't think Lavender knew Ginny was eavesdropping, but still. She says he's, uh... big news."

The two girls erupted into fits of laughter, and Hermione was wiping the tears from her eyes just as quickly as they fell. "Gods, that felt good." She hiccuped and caught her breath. "We should probably get going on those errands."

"Yeah, probably." Astoria stood and Hermione followed her out of the room.

"Hey Story?" Hermione said, trying out her friend's nickname.

"Yeah?"

"You've got me too. As a friend, I mean. And Ron. He'll come around eventually. He just needs..."

Astoria reached for Hermione's hand and squeeze it. " Time, I know. Thanks, 'Mione." She continued to hold on. "Are you ready?"

"We're going to Apparate?" Hermione asked, surprised.

"Yeah, if that's okay. I mean, if we use the floo, well... you'd have to use magic. So I thought we could do it this way."

Hermione was touched by her friend's thoughtfulness. "Yeah, this is fine. Thanks."

"Oh, I almost forgot! Merlin. We're going to Diagon Alley first, just to pick up a few potion supplies for Draco. I can do a glamour for you, if you'd like. That way no one should bother you."

Hermione nodded and Astoria whispered several long incantations before dragging Hermione in front of a mirror. The Gryffindor now had long, dark hair with red and purple highlights. Her eyes were a light green. Astoria handed her a pair of sunglasses, just to be safe. "How's it look?"

Hermione laughed. "I don't recognize myself at all. But this hair... this was one of your glamours!"

"Yeah," Astoria admitted. "I sort of got attached to the crazy highlights. Are you ready?" Hermione nodded.

A spin, a pull and that terrible twisting and they were there. The shop they needed to visit was at the very end of the retail district; and there were very few people around, which suited Hermione just fine. She was amazed to see Diagon Alley hadn't changed very much in the two years she'd been gone. It made her feel strange. On one hand, it was great to come back to somewhere that had made her feel so comfortable. At the same time, with all that had happened in her life, she expected the entire world to be different. But it wasn't.

After they had paid for Astoria's purchase, they once again Apparated. This time they appeared behind a large brick building between a row of dumpsters and the building itself. "Where are we?" asked Hermione.

"Grocery," said Astoria.

They walked around the front of the store and Hermione's eyes searched her surroundings. "But this is a Muggle grocery."

Astoria nodded. "That it is. Magical groceries don't have Nutella, and that's a very important staple at Grimmauld. More important than veggies any day, no matter what Draco says."

The Gryffindor grinned. "I love Nutella."

"What's not to love?" asked Astoria.

They wandered up and down the aisles, putting items in the cart and making small talk. Hermione was in charge of the list as promised, and she was greatly amused at the blonde girl's obvious familiarity with the store. When they were out of the grocery and at the back of the building once again, Hermione couldn't help her curiosity. "How is it that you seem so at ease around Muggles? I mean, you're a pureblood, and a Slytherin. But you totally had me fooled. I thought you were 100% Muggle until a week ago. It can't just be from watching too much telly."

"My nanny was half-blood," explained Astoria. "I found out after I started school, actually. Mother and Father kept her on to help around the house, you see, even after Daphne and I were at school. She kept up the house and then watched over us when we came back from school for holiday."

"You didn't have a house-elf?"

Astoria shook her head. "Mother didn't grow up with house elves, just human servants. When she and Father married, she insisted they do the same."

"So is she a creature activist?"

"Salazar, no. She's just snooty, I guess. Thinks house elves are hideous and prefers to order people around, especially if they're less well-off than her."

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "Pardon the honesty, but she sounds awful."

Astoria laughed. "She is, sort of. I always got on better with Lucy, anyway. That's my nanny. She was more a mother to me, really. Mother and Father thought she was pureblood because she sort of lied about it. There's a good chance Mother wouldn't have wanted a half-blood in the house, even if she was a servant. The Greengrasses may have been neutral in the war, but they're still blood supremacists."

"Except for you."

Astoria agreed. "Except for me."

"How did you find out Lucy was half-blood?"

"She took me shopping one day, and we ended up at her father's house. It wasn't on purpose of course; he was quite old, you see, and he fell. He called Lucy's sister on the telephone, and she contacted Lucy. Her sister is a witch too. So we Apparated over and I started asking all sorts of questions. I'd never been in a Muggle house, and there were so many queer things around. I wouldn't shut up until she told me everything. I was twelve. After that, I wouldn't leave Lucy alone; I hounded her with questions whenever I came home. She trusted me, so she indulged my curiosity. I never told anyone, but by the time I was fourteen, I could pass as Muggle pretty well."

"That's amazing."

Astoria shrugged. "It's been useful, that's for sure. When Draco and I were in hiding, I made him leave the house for supplies, which was wrong. I didn't know if I could totally trust him, though, and I didn't want him to know I was a Muggle-lover. I was worried he could be a spy, even though I'd already gotten really close to him. I didn't know who was safe and who wasn't. And even if I had told him, I was terrified to leave that cabin. I knew that Voldemort could use me against Theo, and I didn't want to give him any extra temptation to kill me, or to hurt Theo. In the end, though, I trusted Draco, and I told him the truth two days before the Order found us."

"Wow. But you and Draco were only in hiding, what, two months before we found you? You too must have gotten along well right from the start."

"Not exactly. It took a while. Two months doesn't sound like much, just a blip in time. It seemed like a lot longer. The thing about Draco... he puts up walls, you know? I mean, he can be a real prick when he wants to, and he doesn't let a lot of people close. But can you blame him? I mean, gods, just imagine what he's gone through, what he's seen, what he's been forced to do." Hermione could imagine it all too clearly; she'd seen the worst with her own two eyes. Well, through Draco's, but still. She knew. "But the thing is, 'Mione, when he lets you in, when you really get to know him... he's fantastic. He'd bloody brilliant, and he's funny, and kind, and so, so loving. I don't know how all that managed to survive the war, or how Voldemort didn't smash it out of him, but it's there. Light, and goodness." She stopped, and looked at Hermione seriously. "You have more in common than you can possibly imagine. I see the same things in you that I see in him. Light. Goodness."

Hermione sniffed back the tears that threatened to fall. "Thank you, Story."

Astoria looked at the girl who had been her friend for over a year, and who was her friend still. She opened her arms and Hermione leaned into them and they embraced. Hermione felt the tightness in her chest that she'd carried around for a week lessen as she held her friend close.

"Hermione?" whispered Astoria.

"Yes?"

"He's single, too. Draco. Just so you know."

Hermione pushed Astoria away and scoffed. Astoria couldn't helping laughing. "I'm just saying."

"Well stop it."

"You two would have beautiful children. I'm just saying. Beautiful, stubborn children."

"ASTORIA! Gods!"

"Just saying." She smirked, and Hermione was suddenly reminded that no matter how sweet and innocent Astoria truly was, she was still a snake at heart.


	48. Daliance

The next few days passed by quickly enough, especially when compared to those first few longs days at Grimmauld Place that had oozed by like a snail in molasses. Maybe it was the fact that Hermione had chosen to ignore Draco's subtle torture, or that she and Astoria were friends once more. Nights were spent chatting about anything and everything, and the two girls' giggling drove Draco to the confines of his bedroom, where he wouldn't have to listen to what he called their "infernal cackling."

Or maybe it was the fact that Harry and Ron came home Wednesday night.

Hermione was surprised as how happy she was to see her two boys. She'd gone two years without them, but she'd rarely afforded herself the opportunity to miss them; it had been too painful. But since she'd been at Grimmauld Place, their absence was felt profoundly. She knew they had been on assignment, but she wondered if the reason they'd stayed away so long instead of checking on her had more to do with her tenuous relationship with Astoria than their hunt for stray Death Eaters. Harry had told her that she needed to work on their friendship, and from what she'd heard from Astoria, she'd been told the same. Now that the girls were partners in crime once more, perhaps the boys felt comfortable coming home.

That, and they'd gone to the Burrow and gotten an earful from Molly. Once she heard Hermione was back at Grimmauld (and why), and then was let in on Astoria's role in the whole debacle, she was livid. Not at either young woman, however, but at Ron and Harry. Apparently what had happened between Hermione and Astoria was between the two of them, and both male components of the Golden Trio were complete gits for leaving instead of supporting both young women.

"She's been out of our lives doing who knows what for TWO YEARS Ronald Weasley! And now she's back, and she's hurting, and you just leave?" She turned to Harry. "YOU! You just left her alone in that house with the two people she'd feel most uncomfortable around. You couldn't put work on hold for even a few days? She bloody needed you and you left her alone. Merlin, I could smack you both." And then she did.

Or at least that's how Harry told it.

The boys were home, and Hermione found herself falling back into familiar patterns, although things were different now that Malfoy and Astoria were in the picture. Harry and Ron still played chess while she read, but she also spent her time chatting with Astoria and letting the blonde girl mess around with her hair and makeup. Astoria was forever talking makeovers and clothes, and it made Hermione smile. This was what she missed, the comfortable banter between friends. The more Astoria waxed poetic on the necessity of moisturizer, the more Hermione complained that she was just a life-sized doll for Astoria to practice cosmetology on. Gods, she'd missed this.

And Malfoy fit in suspiciously well with her make-shift family. He and Harry talked like equals, and he and Ron largely ignored one another, occasionally trading barbs. Still, it was nothing like their Hogwarts days, and there was little venom in the remarks. It seemed more like a long-practiced routine, their insults and pathetic threats bouncing off each other like rubber. Astoria remarked when the two girls were in private that both Draco and Ron had become much more cordial to one another since Astoria had admitted to certain feelings for the Weasley.

Hermione applauded herself on the mature way she was handling Astoria and Ron's relationship. She felt an occasional twinge in her chest when she saw them sharing a private smile, but she was able to admit to herself that it had more to do with her lack of male companionship than any residual romantic feelings toward the red-haired young man.

Both Ron and Astoria were careful around her, though; careful not to sit too closely, careful not to touch. It actually bothered her more than any public displays of affection would; she could deal with them together, but this awkward restraint cast a discomfort over the whole house. It's not like she didn't know they were together. It wasn't like she was incapable of handling the awkwardness like an adult.

And so that's what she told them. Loudly. In front of all her housemates, and Neville. During an incredibly ridiculous movie that Ron had picked out, she gave up on subtlety and barked out, "Just snog and get it over with! No one is going to die if you two touch. I'm not going to break into a million pieces, go it? But I swear to Circe, if you two keep walking around eggshells around me, I'll feed you both to the vamp plant and be done with you." Draco sniggered and pressed pause. This was too good to miss.

Ron looked like he was going to bolt, or throw up, or both, and Astoria looked like she was going to burst into tears or laughter at any moment. Neither said a word, but everyone was looking at Hermione like she'd gone barmy.

"Story, move your ass closer to Ron. You two are sitting on the same couch, for Merlin's sake, you don't need to be pressed into opposite corners. Now Ron, put your arm around Astoria. Stop sitting like a statue Story, you can lean into him. Alright. Now we're going to sit and watch the rest of this dreadful movie, and if you two keep acting weird around me, I'm going to start putting George's 'U-No-Poo' potion into your morning tea so you can really be as constipated as you look. Malfoy, turn on the movie."

Draco grinned widely. "Yes ma'am."

* * *

After her outburst, things got easier. Astoria and Ron still kept the PDA largely to a minimum, but Harry assured her that was normal for them. Harry had asked her on a walk, and they'd been chatting for about twenty minutes when Hermione looked around and noticed her surroundings. "We're by Finsbury Park, aren't we?" Harry smiled and nodded. "Yeah, I like to go here when I need a bit of perspective. Sometimes I get too caught in work, you know? The war is over, but there are still dark wizards out there. You never know who had plans to be the next Dark Lord. But then I come here, and I just sit and watch the Muggles going about their lives, and it's peaceful, you know? We have such different concerns. I mean, they're all real concerns, and valid, but just different. Sometimes it's nice to just not think about magic."

Hermione nodded. "Yeah, I understand completely."

"'Course you do. You know, Bookworm, when your treatment is over... you don't have to go back for good. I mean, once you're in the clear and all, you're always welcome with us. Grimmauld is your home, too."

She bit her lip. Truth was, she'd thought of it, if only briefly. "I don't know, Harry. I'm not ready for magic; I don't know if I ever will be, completely. But these last few days... they've been good. I missed you, you know." She tucked her hand into his and squeezed it. "I just," she choked up, "I just didn't realize how much I'd missed you. And Ron, and Molly, and Arthur, and even Neville." She laughed. "And then I find out that I missed Luna and George's wedding, and Merlin, how the hell did those two happen? And Malfoy, he says that Teddy's gotten so big, and I don't even know him. Can we go to the Burrow this weekend? All of us, I mean. Molly and Arthur already know I'm here, so there's no use hiding. And I'd really like to see everyone."

Harry reached for her and wrapped her in his arms. "Of course we can. I'll owl Molly as soon as we get back. And just so you know, you don't have to go anywhere, Bookworm. If you want to move back in with your mum and dad, we understand, but the door is always open. You can come and go as you please, understand? I don't want to say goodbye again."

She nodded. "I don't want to say goodbye either."

"Well good," he said, and pulled away. "It's decided. You can't leave, at least not entirely, or I'll hunt you down this time, Granger, and I won't take no for an answer."

She smiled. "Ahhh, the Chosen One, always with the demands and special treatment." He flicked her and she yelped. The sun had set, and it was getting dark. "Should we head back, do you think?"

"Yeah, I think that would be good. Short way or the long way?" He held out his arm, questioning.

"Short way," she said, and held on tight as they disappeared into thin air.

* * *

"So are you going to ask me to heal that scar on your stomach or not?"

"Excuse me?" Hermione sputtered, her morning tea sloshing in the mug she'd declared hers. It had a cute drawing of an owl carrying the post, the city of London far below. On her plate, a tea-logged piece of toast was acting as a sponge, and she reached for a napkin to clean up the mess.

"The scar," he motioned to her abdomen. "Or did you want to have a dead man's name carved into your skin forever? I wouldn't if I were you, but to each his own."

"Well, I..." Hermione was at a loss for words. She'd considered it, sure, but the last time Malfoy had healed her, things had gotten... complicated. But she did want the reminder of her torture gone, and Malfoy was the one who could do it. She just hadn't realized that he'd been thinking about it as well. "I guess, yes. I would like you to heal it, if you don't mind. But no funny business, okay?"

He rolled his eyes and let out a large sigh. "I was planning on ravaging you here and now, but if you insist..." She gave him a look that could easily emasculate a lesser man. "You just look so sophisticated in those flannel pajama bottoms, Granger. I can't help myself. Oh baby, oh baby."

"Well you don't have to be mean about it," Hermione said, defensive. She set down what was left of her tea and walked into the laboratory.

Draco's eyes followed the sway of her hips. "Sure I do." Truth was, he thought she looked bloody delicious in her pjs. She'd put on some weight thanks to his cooking, and the gentle swell of her hips and bottom were set off by the low-slung pants. Less than two weeks earlier she'd appeared gaunt and angular, but now her curves were apparent, and Merlin, bloody alluring. She was definitely a school girl no longer. Though he wouldn't mind seeing her in that uniform, for old time's sake...

He pointed wordlessly to the table and she moved the parchment and the a few supplies to the side, and then hopped on. He handed her the potion and she swallowed it quickly, her face pulled into a grimace until... "Wow, that is actually not that bad!"

"The peppermint," he said, "made it a lot more bearable." He held out his arm and she looked at the mark; it was even lighter now. "It's getting better," she ventured.

"I doubt it will ever completely fade; I've treated it so many times, I'm beginning to wonder if its permanency is part of the magic. It will fade, but it won't disappear." She bit her lip and nodded. She'd wondered the same, especially since he'd healed her scar so easily.

"On your back," he ordered, and she laid down, trying to relax her muscles. She was always so tense when he was around, always uncomfortably aware of her body. Of her arms, her legs, his eyes... Gods, she needed to stop thinking like this. It was getting worse, whatever this was. Not a crush, she assured herself. Definitely not.

He stood next to her and met her eyes, silently asking permission. She nodded slightly, and he pulled up the edge of her t-shirt, hoping she wouldn't notice the trembling of his hands. 'Keep it together,' he scolded himself. Once he'd calmed down, he took stock of the scar, and tried to control his face so his alarm wouldn't show. It was terrible. The letters were puffy across the smooth expanse of her stomach, and he couldn't look at it without feeling a bit sick. He had known Theo, and for a moment... well, for a moment he was thankful his friend had been put under the Imperius Curse. Because he had to believe that Theo didn't have this in him. It had to be Voldemort who did this, 100%. Any other possibility was simply inconceivable.

He looked into Granger's eyes and saw the liquid building there. He pointed his wand at her stomach and murmured the incantation. Once the magical part was done, he rubbed his hands together to warm them, and placed them on her pale skin. Wordlessly, he gently pushed and pulled at her muscles, forcing blood to the top layers of her flesh. He felt her memories rise to the surface, but he suppressed the urge to open them. When he looked up at her, the tears were slowly falling, but her expression was one of embarrassment, and not fear.

"I can stop if it's too much," he offered.

"No," she choked out. "I want it gone."

He nodded. Wanting to reassure her that she was safe, that she had nothing to be ashamed of, he picked up his wand and cast a nonverbal spell over her body. Warmth radiated through her limbs, sinking deep into her bones. She let out a small sigh and the lines between her eyes relaxed. "What was that?"

"A calming spell."

"I don't think I know that one." Her voice turned soft and melodic, and he could tell the spell was doing its job.

"A favorite of my mother's," he explained. "She would use it on me when I was little, when Father's... less than savory acquaintances visited. Many of the witches and wizards in Father's particular social circle frightened me as a child. Some as an adult. Just relax and let the spell do its job."

"Ah." She closed her eyes and let the calm overtake her. Her skin felt like velvet, her bones like jelly. She imagined herself a content kitten asleep in a sunbeam on a quiet winter's day.

Draco concentrated on his work, watching the puffiness of the scar fade, the angry edges disappear. He focused his attention and his hands on the ugliest part of the scar; he could tell the wound had been deepest here, and the edges were ragged. The massage grew stronger as his thumbs dug into the mark, coaxing healing. Hermione let out a soft moan and he froze. She became silent, but a soft smile flitted across her face. Again he pushed deeper, and again she vocalized. 'It's just the spell,' he told himself.

He kept at it, moving among the various areas of the old wound until there was not the slightest trace left to mar her skin. He could tell the calming spell had faded; it normally lasted ten minutes, tops, and it had been almost twenty since he'd cast it. Her eyes were still closed, and she seemed relaxed. He would have thought her asleep if it hadn't been for her breathing. It was done, she was all soft skin and firm muscle. He pulled his hand away and then stopped. Cautiously, he brought his palm back to the slight valley of her abdomen and grazed fingertips across newly perfected flesh. Watching her face for a reaction, he moved slowly from side to side, feeling the subtle movements of her breath as it moved through her body. It had been so long since he'd touched anyone like this. Hell, he'd never really touched anyone exactly like this. It wasn't just about urgency or need. It was about desire, and something more.

He wanted... he wanted her to know she'd be alright. He wanted her to be unashamed.

He wanted her.

He let his fingers wander up and down her sides, feeling the movement of muscle as her back arched slightly. He wasn't even thinking now, he was simply feeling. Her creamy skin was like silk, the touch of a flower. "You're beautiful," he breathed, and then stopped.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she seemed to come back from the trance he'd put her in. "What are you doing?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know," he admitted.

She closed her eyes once more and stretched her limbs like a cat. A pop sounded from her left ankle as she rolled it slowly. Without opening her eyes, she flipped onto her stomach, her shirt stilled pulled up, her torso exposed. Draco stood still, not knowing what to do. "Rub my back?" she asked.

He barely heard the suggestion, and he questioned whether or not he'd made it up. And then she said please. That was all it took for him to climb up on the table and straddle the back of her thighs. He kneaded her flesh, working out any trace of tension in the skin visible to his wandering eyes. He did his best to ignore the tiny noises she made in the back of her throat; they were too immediate, too delicious. His fortunate fingers moved from her lower back up to very bottom edge of her shirt, and he allowed one to dip beneath the garment. She didn't move or object, so he let his hands wander under the fabric, all the time aware that he was touching the simple cotton of her bra. He ran the straps slowly through his fingers, and tried not to let his mind wander too much. With their current position and situation, he didn't want to embarrass himself.

Inch by inch, he covered her skin with his, knuckles kneading, fingers splaying. He felt her move beneath him, her muscles clenching as her toes curled. He stifled a groan. This was getting too tempting, and he knew he needed to stop before he did something even more stupid. Truth was, he was slightly mad for this girl. And although he sometimes let himself believe she could be interested too, it wasn't worth putting his pride on the line. She'd be around for at least another two weeks, he told himself. Don't make it more awkward now. Things in the house had just gotten normal.

Expect for the fact that he was currently in the middle of the most erotic back massage he'd ever been a part of, and he wasn't even the one getting touched! He slowed his movements, unsure of what to do. Gracefully he moved off of her and stood beside the table. He watched her move her head to face his, and she smiled sleepily. Her eyes opened and they were unfocused, hazy. "Is it gone?"

"What?" he asked, dumbly.

"The scar." She yawned and stretched her muscles. "Is it really gone?"

"Yes," he said, kicking himself for his stupidity. Concentrate!

She pushed up to a sitting position. "Thank you, Malfoy. Did Story know about it?"

He shook his head. "Not as far as I know."

"Good. Please don't tell her about this."

There was no way in HELL he would tell Astoria about this. No way. It was... personal. Weird. Really, really good.

"I mean, I don't want her to know what happened, with Nott and all. I don't want that to be part of her memory of him."

Of course. Don't tell Astoria about the scar. Obviously. But he wasn't going to tell her about the touching, either. Definitely not. Because it didn't mean anything, right?

She slowly made her way across the room, stopping at the door and looking back at him before she began to climb the stairs. "You know, Draco, once you get past all the nasty parts, you're not so bad yourself. I mean that."

He watched her ascend the staircase, her hips swiveling from side to side as she moved. He had a feeling that she knew he was watching. At the top of the stairs she looked back and caught his gaze. She smiled.

Shit. The bloody witch was going to be the death of him.


	49. Drop

"You're attracted to Draco Malfoy. You find Draco Malfoy attractive. It's a natural response, given your proximity and the fact that he has been helping you. It's perfectly normal, and not at all insane." As much as she said it to herself in the mirror, she still didn't believe it. She must have really lost it if she thought any bit of this was normal. Not to mention the fact that she'd started talking to herself, or rather, her mirror. "Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the craziest of them all?" The mirror didn't answer, and that was a good thing.

'It's just sexual tension,' she told herself. Perfectly natural. It wasn't even her fault, really. If anything, chemicals were to blame. Plus hormones, pheromones, neurotransmitters - all guilty. Yeah, Malfoy was handsome, especially since he'd lost the slicked-back hair and all-black wardrobe. He was tall, and fit enough, and so biologically... it was normal. Evolution was on his side; he had good genes. Moreover, he looked good in jeans. And yeah, he was pretty funny, when he wasn't being a git, and sure, he seemed to have turned into a fairly decent adult. He was a good cook, and he took care of Astoria ('and you,' her conscience said, but she told it to shut up), and he was friends with Harry and Neville. So he couldn't be all that bad.

And that's why she'd let him touch her. Scratch that, that's why she'd asked him to touch her. Biology. Chemistry. That, and it had just felt so amazing to be touched again. It had been so long since she'd allowed herself to feel that, to really feel the way another person could affect her. It wasn't anything like the boy at the night club. It was... well, it had been brilliant.

But it couldn't happen again. That would be a bad choice, and since the war, Hermione was very careful not to make bad choices.

No matter what her libido wanted.

They didn't talk about it. Malfoy didn't tease her about it, but he did continue to give her looks, long, lingering ones that warmed her head to toe. But they didn't talk about it. When they did speak to one another, they talked about books, they talked about Astoria, they talked about things that wouldn't get them in trouble.

Days after the second incidence in the laboratory (Hermione thought it best to stay away from now on, given her history with the room), they were sitting down to lunch. When she first arrived at Grimmauld over two weeks ago, she made it a point to eat her lunch alone, and usually in her room. She didn't want to deal with the teasing or the arguments or the small talk, and more than that, she didn't want to seem like a bother. This was Draco's turf now, as strange as that was; he'd lived at Grimmauld for longer than her, after all, and it was (for the moment) his permanent residence. Even when her parents had been off in Australia, and she'd been Dark Arts study-girl, she had still thought of her childhood house as home. But Malfoy didn't have a childhood home anymore; the Manor was gone, and so were his parents. Astoria was his adopted family, and she lived here, in the ancestral Black home. And technically, this house was just as much Draco's birthright as it was Harry's; Sirius had been Harry's godfather, it was true, but Hermione wasn't sure if the house had really been Sirius' to give away as he pleased. It just wasn't the way with old pureblood families; since Narcissa and Bellatrix were both gone, as was Regulus, it seemed to Hermione that tradition would dictate the house fall to Draco Malfoy, the only living heir of the Black family. There was Andromeda, but as her name had been expunged from the family tree, she could no longer lay claim to the property in traditional pureblood eyes.

And so Hermione had done her best to walk the line of respecting Malfoy's right to live at Grimmauld Place while still keeping her distance from him. While occasionally insulting him to his face.

But sometime after her confrontation with Astoria and Ron (The day after? The one after that?), they'd begun to eat lunch together every day, she and Draco. It was strange, thinking of him as Draco instead of Malfoy. She wasn't sure when that had started either. She'd called him by his first name a few times, but usually relied on Malfoy, or Ferret, or (when she was feeling particularly saucy), Foul, Loathsome, Evil Little Cockroach. But in her head, when she thought about him (which happened more than she'd like to admit, even to herself), he was Draco. Draco, who could be a complete arse at times, but could be perfectly pleasant at others. Draco, who read just as much as she did, which was not an easy feat. Draco, who was an excellent cook, almost as good as Molly. That made sense, since he'd learned quite a bit from the Weasley matriarch. Apparently he'd sequestered himself in the kitchen during his various Burrow visits, as he was not exactly close friends with either Ron or George. Molly had gladly accepted his help and apprenticeship, eager to pass on her love of cooking (especially since all of her children had expressed just how uninterested they were in working in the kitchen). Astoria had told Hermione all of this, of course, and the younger girl was obviously pleased at how Mrs. Weasley and Draco had bonded. "It's just that he didn't grow up with that, you know? Neither did I. Purebloods don't cook for themselves, not really. That's servant work. Draco knew enough to keep himself fed if completely necessary, and he practiced a bit during our time in the cabin, but since he started learning from Molly... well, it's totally different. It's like an art, when he cooks. I think he took to it so easily since he's always been so great at Potions. It comes naturally to him. And Molly... she sees him like a son, just like she sees us all as family. Whether or not Ron or George get on with him, to Mrs. Weasley, he's just as good as blood."

Hermione had witnessed the bond just days before at the Burrow. It had been one of the strangest visits she'd had there, which was saying something. George and Luna weren't able to make it, and Ginny was still stuck in endless practices for her Quidditch team. Ron and Astoria were still keeping their distance from one another, relatively speaking. Molly had fawned over Hermione the entire time, calling her "the little lost lamb," which Hermione sort of really hated. She'd eaten so much she thought she'd pass out. It had felt like it usually did (in some regards) as well as nothing at all like she remembered.

So it was at lunch that Hermione was contemplating the various changes to her world, and how Draco Malfoy fit into it. Draco had noticed her silence, of course, and commented on it.

"Hmmm?" she asked.

"I said, what's got your attention? You look like you're trying to figure out the mysteries of the universe."

She waved him away. "No, nothing like that. Just thinking." (Anyway, she knew the Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything. 42.)

"About?"

"Life." She shrugged. "Everything's just different, you know? I mean, one moment I'm at university trying to get through some of the most tedious classes I've ever had the pleasure of taking, and the next, I'm sick with some weird magical ailment. I'm here, and you're here, and Astoria's here, and it's... weird," she said flatly.

He nodded. "Lots of change."

"Yeah. I'm just trying to find the balance, I think. But I haven't seen my parents in weeks, and I feel like I'm missing something. I've been living in the Muggle world for two years, and then suddenly I'm back here. But I'm not doing magic, so it's like I'm still living in my parents' world, just stuck here. There's... I dunno, like a dissonance. I feel like my life is a scale and it's so far from level it's not funny."

"What do you think would even out the scales?"

She bit her lip. "I think I need to visit my folks. Talking on the phone, it's just not enough. I mean, I was away from them all throughout school, but it was always okay, because I knew I would be coming back over holiday. But now... I feel stuck in between two worlds. Like I can be here or there, but I have to choose. I think if I saw them, I'd feel unstuck. Like I was free to move back and forth between the gap." She sighed. "I have no idea why I'm telling you this." Honestly. She'd just opened her mouth and it had all poured out. It was disconcerting.

"Is it that difficult to talk to me?" he asked.

She thought about it for a while. "No, I guess not. It's just strange. I've always thought of you as this complete asshole."

"And now?"

She studied him with a smirk on her face. "Now you're just a partial asshole."

He laughed loudly and clapped his hands. "Oh, that's rich. If it changes anything, I've always thought of you as a stuck-up know-it-all with a stick up her arse."

"And now?"

"Verdict's still out," he said with a gleam in his eye.

"Prat."

He chewed his sandwich thoughtfully. "I bet Astoria would go with you to your parents if you asked her. She'll be home by six; you could go home for dinner."

She considered that, but then shook her head. "I want to go now. I could be back here by dinner. I just think I need to see them. Today."

"Yeah, that's not going to happen," he said seriously. "You can't leave on your own. Just wait a few hours, Harry or Story can take you."

"I'm not a child, Malfoy, and I'm not a prisoner here. You can't keep me here against my will." What had just moments ago been a passing desire to leave had now flared to an insistent need. How dare he tell her what to do? She was an adult, perfectly capable of making her own choices. "I'm going. It's been weeks since I've seen them. They'll be worried about me, I just know it. They try not to show it, but I know they're concerned."

"Look, Granger, it's noon on a workday. They won't even be home."

"They will," she insisted. "They have Tuesdays off."

"Well we're still not going."

"You're right," she said. "We're not going. I'm an adult, and I can see my parents if I damn well please." She stood up and ran upstairs to gather a few things. Malfoy followed her, just as she'd expected.

"Come on Granger, stop being such a bloody drama queen. You can wait a few hours. I'm sure Story would love to go with you. You can talk about mascara or whateverthehell you women drone on about."

She turned around and stared at him, a hand on her keys. "I'm sure she would, but like I said, I'm going. Now." She tried to push past him but he took up the doorway and wouldn't budge. "Move, Ferret."

He threw up his hands. "Harry will kill me if I let you go off on your own. I know you're feeling better, but you're still not totally healthy. I won't... he wouldn't want me to risk it."

"Fine, then you'll come with me." She was desperate. She wasn't sure why she was so anxious to see her mum and dad, but she knew if she could just see them, just hug them, she'd feel like herself again. Plus, she wanted to get a few things from her room to bring back with her.

His expression went blank. "I can't."

"And why's that, exactly?"

He busied himself with a loose string on his t-shirt. "I just can't."

"Ugh! You're impossible! You won't let me go on my own but you don't have the decency to go with me. I take back what I said. Complete asshole."

He sighed, exasperated. "Granger, haven't you noticed that I'm around a lot?"

"Yeah, I get it, you're my babysitter." She rolled her eyes.

"Well sort of, yeah, but that's not why I'm always here. There's a reason that Astoria gets the groceries and Neville brings me plants and potion supplies. I sort of haven't left the house in two years."

"That's preposterous. We went to the Burrow last weekend."

"Fine," he said, rolling his eyes. "I haven't been anywhere except here and the Burrow in two years." He was embarrassed at the admission, but not as much as he would have expected. It was sort of freeing, actually. He'd just assumed she known. He'd thought one of his many housemates would have told her by now. In fact, he was sort of flabbergasted that she hadn't realized it herself. She was supposed to be sharp.

"Excuse me? There's no way that can be true."

He shrugged. "I was on house arrest for six months, and after that, there was a lot of hostility aimed my way from former Death Eaters and regular witches and wizards alike. I defected, but I had still been part of Voldemort's army. There were very few people willing to give me the time of day, much less their understanding or compassion. I thought it best to lay low for a while, and I just sort of... have been doing that every since."

"So you just don't leave the house."

He nodded. "That's the long and short of it, yeah."

"But why? I mean, it's been years, surely people have found better gossip and other people to hate."

"I suppose it's the same reason you don't use magic." He looked at her seriously. "I'm fucking terrified." It felt good to admit it.

Hermione just blinked, unsure of what to say. He'd raged at her for not using magic, and he hadn't been able to leave the house in two years? And no, the Burrow didn't really count.

"I don't... know how to process that. You just stay here, then. You don't leave." It wasn't a question.

"Nope."

"But that's ridiculous."

"Yep."

"You need to get out of the house, Malfoy."

He nodded. "Probably."

She paced the room, unsure why she was so upset and confused over this piece of information. "So.. are you unable to leave the house other than going to the Burrow?"

He shrugged again. "I don't know. I mean, I've never had a panic attack or anything, so I don't think it's officially agoraphobia. I've read a lot about it; Merlin knows I've had enough time. I just can't seem to think of a good enough reason to risk leaving."

She thought hard for a moment. "Mongolian Beef."

"Umm... what?"

She nodded vigorously. "Mongolian Beef. It's perfect, actually. You're afraid to go out into the magical world, right? So we'll just bypass it. We'll go to my parents' house and we'll get take-away. Mongolian Beef. Have you had it before?" He shook his head. "It's brilliant, absolutely delicious. And there just happens to be the best Chinese restaurant in the world two blocks from my house."

"Granger, I don't know..." He looked uneasy, and Hermione had a sudden rush of compassion for him. He may be a git, but he was still a person, and a half-way decent one at that. "Come on, Draco, you'll be fine. If you want to leave, we'll leave. But you did say that you needed a reason, and this is it. You need to try Mongolian Beef. Ohh, and a white chocolate mocha. Or Irish Cream Mocha. I dunno, maybe both." She snapped her fingers excitedly. "Okay, it's settled. Get your stuff."

"What stuff is that, exactly?"

"I dunno, guy stuff. Don't you have stuff? Keys, wallet, that sort of thing?"

He shook his head. "Don't need keys to Grimmauld, you know that. Don't need a wallet, I don't have Muggle money."

"Alright then. Let's go."

He hesitated. "Look, Granger, even if I do agree to this nonsense... How exactly are we going to get there? I can't Apparate us; I don't have a single bloody idea where you live. And I am NOT going to take Muggle public transportation, you better believe that."

It was Hermione's turn to look uneasy. "Well... I suppose there's always the Floo network. I mean, Harry had my parents' house hooked up to it, didn't he? You don't think he took it off, do you?"

Draco shook his head slowly. "As far as I know, it's still hooked up. But your parents, they can't get through, Granger, they're not..."

"I know," she swallowed deeply, "they aren't magical. But I am. We could use the Floo."

"But that means..."

"I'd have to use magic, yeah." She bit her fingernail subconsciously. "It's not a lot of magic, though. I mean, it's not like I could hurt anyone."

"You don't have to convince me."

"Yeah." She stood still, feeling herself on the edge of the precipice. One wrong step and she'd fall. "Guess today is about facing our demons, eh Malfoy?"

"Guess so," he said, but he didn't sound exactly sure.

But it had been decided. Today was the day that things would change, for the both of them. She looked at the edge and took a step. And she prayed that someone would catch her if she fell.


	50. Daytrip

"Granger, you look ill."

"Uhhh... I sort of feel ill." The world was spinning, and her hands were dirty. "It's been a while since I've traveled like that."

"Maybe you need to sit down."

She looked down at her clothes; they were covered in soot. "Yeah, I think Mum will have my hide if I ruin her couch."

"That was a pretty graceless tumble." Malfoy sucked on his bottom lip to keep from laughing.

So much for someone catching her if she fell.

"Whatever," she muttered. "Mum? Dad?" There was no response. Her brow furrowed. "Mum? Dad?" She wandered into the kitchen; it was empty. "Guess they've decided to run errands," she said, walking back to where she'd left Draco. "Unless they left for some reason, but I would think they'd call me if they went on holiday..."

"Do you have any way of getting in touch with them?" asked Draco.

Her eyes lit up. "Yes, as a matter of fact! Mum and Dad just got mobile phones for work. Hang on," she said, and she disappeared into the kitchen.

Draco took stock of his surroundings, unsure of what to do. The room didn't look particularly strange; he'd expected to see weird Muggle things strewn about the room. "Where's your television?" he asked Hermione when she'd appeared once more.

"I have a small one in my room," she said, "but Mum and Dad don't really watch telly." She watched him look around the house, and tried to see it through his eyes. It was smaller than Grimmauld Place, but newer. It had to be the first Muggle house he'd been in, she realized. "Do you want a tour?" she offered.

His face lit up and then a mask of controlled boredom appeared just as quickly. "Yeah, I guess."

She rolled her eyes. He was so transparent. "Well I don't want to twist your arm," she said sarcastically. He shrugged, sheepish. "Whatever. This is the living room." He nodded. "So. Yeah. Um, you've obviously seen the fireplace, and there's books, and... that's about it." She suddenly felt nervous being in her house alone with him. Ron had never visited her parents' house, and she realized this was the first boy she'd ever brought home. And he was a Slytherin. She gave an involuntary shudder. Well, too late to turn back now.

"Um, we can go upstairs, if you'd like?" He shrugged again.

"Oookay," she muttered, but he followed her up the stairs. She stopped at the first door on the right. "This is my room." He walked past her into the bedroom and slowly made his way around the small space, his hand lightly touching upon her bookshelf, her school trunk, and several framed photographs of her family.

"I'm sure you're used to larger quarters," she ventured.

"Been at Grimmauld for a while now; got used to it," he muttered. She watched him studying her pictures. "When was this taken?" he asked, picking up one of the frames.

She moved closer to him and inspected the picture. "That was over the summer holiday, after second year. Mum and Dad took me to France."

"You look happy," Draco said.

"I was."

Her eyes followed him as he moved about the room, kneeling down to read the spines of her books. She shifted from one foot to the other and stopped herself when she realized she'd been biting her nails. "You can borrow a book, if you want." He didn't look up, just kept running a finger across the titles, occasionally pulling out a book to flip through. "Well, I should probably find something to change into, I suppose." She looked down at her filthy clothes. Draco didn't seem to register a thing she said. She made her way to her dresser and sort through the drawers; something to change into, and a few things to bring back to Grimmauld. When she'd picked out several outfits, she saw that he was now seated on her bedroom floor, flipping through what looked to be her Intro to Humanities textbook. "Uh, make yourself at home," she said, "I'll go change in the bathroom." He nodded, but kept his eyes on the book.

Once in the bathroom, she changed into a different pair of denims and a hooded sweatshirt. She caught her reflection in the mirror and frowned. Did she really look that dowdy in this pull-over? Not that it mattered... She rifled through the rest of her tops and settled on a teal blouse her mother had picked out for her during a recent shopping trip. Helen had told her that it brought out the gold in her eyes and hair, and it was surprisingly comfortable, for something not made of cotton. She slipped the piece of silk over her head and cinched the tie at her waist. She ran her fingers through her hair (which thankfully had not taken the brunt of the soot) and reached into a nearby drawer for a bit of lipgloss. It wasn't anything obvious or showy; Astoria would ask what the point was, really, if she were there to see it. Nevermind, it was something. She wondered why she even bothered, but then slicked the light pink color onto her lips and studied her reflection. Better.

She stood at the door to her room and watched Malfoy, who was still absorbed in her school book. "Shall we?" she asked, gesturing to the rest of the house. "Yeah, just a minute," he muttered, not looking up. "You can bring that with you, if you'd like." He held a finger to his place in the book and glanced up at her, his eyes widening as he took in her altered appearance. "Uh, no, I'm good," he said, and dropped the book to the side. "Lead on."

They wandered downstairs and through the living room. "And in here is the kitchen." He followed her into the next room and stopped. "Oh wow, you've got a microwiz too! It's bigger than ours," he said, frowning.

"It's a microwave, Malfoy. How many times do people have to correct you?"

"I prefer microwiz," he said defensively. "It sounds better. And anyway, it's sort of Muggle magic, isn't it? Electricity, I mean."

"It's not magic. There are waves of..."

He scoffed. "I do know some things, Granger. Still, it's like their own brand of magic. And sometimes it's nice to just be amazed at something instead of having to know exactly how it works."

"But that's silly," she said, "Isn't it better to actually know? I mean, it's logical. There's a reason it works. There are natural laws in place that can be understood."

He shook his head. "'When I heard the learn'd astronomer.'"

"Excuse me?"

"Whitman. It's one of his poems. I read it in one of your books back at Grimmauld. 'When I heard the learn'd astronomer; when the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me; when I was shown the charts and the diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them; when I, sitting, heard the astronomer, where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room, how soon, unaccountable, I became tired and sick; till rising and gliding out, I wander'd off by myself, in the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time, look'd up in perfect silence at the stars.'"

Hermione stared at him in silence.

Seriously?

"What?" he asked self-consciously.

"Nothing," she said quickly. Then, "It's just that you quoted Walt Whitman. By heart."

"I told you I read your books."

"But you memorized it."

"I had a lot of time. And I like that poem a lot. Actually, I like Muggle poetry in general. Much better than the rubbish they made us read at Hogwarts. Seriously, who writes poetry about trolls?"

"You like poetry." She couldn't wrap her head around it. She thought she had him almost figured out and then he threw something ridiculous like this at her.

"It's not that big of a deal. I mean, there were a lot of men who wrote poetry. Shakespeare, Whitman, Eliot, Neruda. It's not like it's weird to enjoy reading it."

"No, it's not," she agreed. "But it's weird that you like it."

"Gods, how shocking! The Death Eater like Muggle books!"

"That's not what I meant at all! It's just... ugh! Nevermind."

"They're interesting, Muggles," he said, his voice calmer. "I can read the books and watch the television shows, but it's still alien to me. With everything I've read, I could have a degree in theoretical Muggle studies. But it's not like I have any hands-on experience or anything."

She smirked. "So you're looking for hands-on experience, then?" she said, her voiced laced with suggestion. "How very progressive of you."

"Stop right there, Granger." He looked decidedly uncomfortable.

"What's wrong, Draco?" She moved closer to him. "I thought you were a fan of the innuendo?" She felt a thrill of power as she carefully watched his expression change from uneasy to something more intense. His silver-gray eyes turned dark and he clenched his jaw. Ah, so she could affect him, then. All those times he'd set her off balance with his knowing looks and pointed words... this felt a lot like revenge.

"You know, I grew up as a Muggle. I know an awful lot about them." She stepped closer to him, not yet touching. He moved backwards until he bumped up against the sink. "In fact, I've lived like one for the past couple years. Some would say I'm very experienced, indeed."

"I'm serious Granger. Stop before things get nasty." He looked trapped, his eyes turning wild as he gripped the countertop behind him. His knuckles turned an even paler shade of white. She felt a thrill run up her spine.

She leaned towards him and whispered in his ear, "Promises, promises."

He let out a low, guttural growl and suddenly everything felt a bit too real. She casually removed herself from his personal space and batted her eyelashes, trying her best to look like the picture of innocence. "Not as fun when you're on the other end, now is it?"

A subtle blushed crept up his cheeks. Okay, so maybe he deserved that. He'd been goading her for days and days, and she'd thought she'd try her hand at it. That's all it was. "Message received," he hissed.

She stuck out her hand and he reached to shake it.

"No more teasing?" she asked. He nodded.

"And no more suggestive looks?" He shrugged. He couldn't promise that. Some things just happened naturally.

She sighed. "Fine. So sex is off the table?"

His jaw clenched again and she could have sworn she saw his Adam's apple bob. He looked her straight in the eyes and then she saw the almost imperceptible glance behind her. She followed his gaze to where it fell on the kitchen table and felt her arms covered with gooseflesh. She shivered. He took a step towards her.

"Hermione!" She heard the front door open and she sprang away from him, busying herself with a piece of mail that had been left on the counter. Helen Granger bounded into the room and stopped when she saw they had a guest.

Hermione just realized she had forgotten to mention Malfoy's presence when she had talked to her parents.

"Hello," Helen said and reached out her hand. "Helen Granger."

Draco took it and smiled stiffly. "Yes, Mrs. Granger, we met a few weeks back. Draco Malfoy."

A wary look of recognition crossed her face, and then a smile covered it. "Of course! I am so sorry Draco, it's very nice to see you again, and under better circumstances, I hope?" She looked at Hermione, her eyes questioning.

"I'm fine, Mum, I just missed you." Hermione pulled her mother into a tight embrace. "Sorry to just drop by like this, I should have called first."

Helen stroked Hermione's hair and then pulled back to look at her daughter. "Nonsense, Bookworm. This is your house, you come and go as you please, understand? Your father and I are always happy to see you." She sneaked a glance at Draco, and Hermione could see the concern in her eyes.

"I wanted to come home, and Draco volunteered to accompany me, because of my condition. He's been very helpful, actually."

Helen smiled, a bit confused, but relieved to see her daughter safe and sound. "Well it's lovely to have company. Draco, can I get you something to drink?"

"Oh, I'm fine Mrs. Granger. Please don't worry about me." Draco shifted his weight from one foot to another, not knowing what to say. It was obvious once more that the Grangers had heard his name before, and not in a great connotation.

"Where's Dad?" asked Hermione.

"Oh, just getting some things out of the car. He decided we needed a new grill this summer, can you believe that?"

"Uh, yes, I can," Hermione laughed. "That old grill was ancient! Half the meat was still frozen while the other half burned."

Helen sighed. "Well, with what we paid for this one, it better cook evenly. It's got all these gadgets on it, I don't know. I barely paid attention, he was so excited it made me a little nauseated. I haven't seen him that giddy since we got the new lawnmower."

"Ohhh, he wouldn't shut up about that stupid thing!" said Hermione.

"I know." The two women shared a conspiratorial look.

"Uh, do you think he needs help?" asked Draco casually. "With the grill-thing? I mean, I assume grills are heavy. Metal, and all." He was trying to appear aloof, Hermione could tell, but she had seen the glint in his eye. It was the same look he had when he's seen their top-of-the-line microwave.

"That'd be lovely, thank you, Draco," Helen answered.

He quickly walked out the front door and Hermione burst into laughter. "This is the first Muggle house he's ever been in; I think he's a little excited."

Helen raised an eyebrow. "He's something. What exactly did I walk in on, by the way?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "How do you mean?"

"Good try, Bookworm. Is there something going on between the two of you?"

She felt the warmth paint her face, but she shook her head. "Don't be silly."

"Mmmhmm. So this Draco, he's been helping you, then?"

Hermione nodded. "Astoria's at school during the day, and Harry and Ron are at work, so Malfoy's been the one to do almost all of therapy."

"You didn't really mention that when we've talked on the phone." Helen raised an eyebrow.

"Didn't I? Hmm. Well. Yeah, he's been helping me. I haven't had any breakthrough magic, so apparently it has been working. No panic attacks either."

"I'm so glad to hear that, sweetheart. I was really worried about you; both your father and I were, in fact."

"I know, Mum. But I'm okay." Hermione reached in the cabinet for a glass and rifled through the refrigerator, settling on mango nectar. She poured a large glassful and drank deeply. "Mmmm, I've missed this."

"Yeah, it's amazing how long a gallon can last when you're out of the house," Helen teased.

"You missed me. Go on and admit it."

"That I did, Bookworm. Now. What's the plan for the day? Do you think you could stay for dinner? Draco's invited, of course."

Hermione nodded. "Yeah, I thought we could pick up some Chinese. Malfoy sort of needs to keep an eye on me because of the whole magic thing, so he'll stick around."

"Do you need me to get him? If he needs to watch you..." Helen was already half-way out the door by the time Hermione called after her, "No, Mum, I'm fine."

"Are you positive?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Do you seriously think he's babysitting me night and day? It's not like we have to sleep in the same room or anything."

"Good to know." Helen quirked an eyebrow, and Hermione groaned. "Hey, I'm just saying he's a good-looking young man. And he's obviously changed if you can stand to be in his presence for more than a minute. I remember you coming home from school and crying about how mean he was to you."

"He's... better. He's changed a lot; more than I give him credit for, I think." She thought about it for a long minute. "I mean, he's still sort of a git, but he's not so bad. There are worse people I could be forced to spend my time around."

"Ahh, Granger, you flatter me." Draco walked back into the room, followed by Patrick Granger, who swooped Hermione up into his arms. He twirled her around as if she was a little girl and set her down with a "Ufff!"

"Draco here has been telling me that you've become quite the accomplished slug bug, laying around all day in your pajamas."

"I'm not exactly sure that's what I said, Mr. Granger." Draco looked worried.

"Ah, I'm just kidding around." Patrick slapped Draco's shoulder and grinned at Helen. Hermione had never brought a boy home, and even if this one was just a friend, well, it sure felt good to torture him.

* * *

"Alright, Draco, what's the verdict?" asked Patrick with a smile.

"Oh my gods, I don't think I'll ever eat again," Draco said.

"That good?" Hermione grinned.

"Absolutely delicious. Thank you so much Mrs. Granger, Mr. Granger. I feel like I could sleep for a week."

"Ahh, the food coma," Hermione teased. "Happens to the least glutenous of us, especially when Chinese food is involved. A mocha will help that."

"Ah yes, tummy ache plus caffeine, always a winning combination," noted Helen wryly.

"So this mocha thing, it's just chocolate and coffee? Because that doesn't sound all that special. I mean, we have both of those at home. Grimmauld, I mean." Merlin, it was bad enough that he thought of Grimmauld Place as home, but he'd just insinuated that it was Hermione's home too. And in front of her parents, no less.

"It's chocolate and coffee with a ridiculous price tag. Don't believe the hype, Draco," Patrick warned.

"It's so much more than that," said Hermione. "Especially a white chocolate mocha. It's heaven. Add a bit of Irish Cream syrup and it's the best dessert you can eat in a car. Less messy than a banana split, at least."

"A banana what?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "Ohhh, there are so many Muggle things to show you! But first, I want to stop by the bookstore. Do you mind if we make a detour?" She looked at her watch. "I know it's getting late, but I'd really like to see my friends. We'll pick up the coffee on the way; I won't be long, I promise."

She looked so damn cute; she was giving her best puppy dog eyes, and he knew she was trying to manipulate him. It was working. And he honestly didn't care. "Yeah, let's go for it. We can Apparate from there."

"How did you two get here, by the way?" asked Helen. "Did you take public trans?"

Hermione shook her head. "Floo network; the house is still connected."

"You used magic? Oh honey, I'm so proud of you!"

"Come on, Mum, it's not a big deal. It was just once. I don't think I'll make a habit of it. I just wanted to see you both."

Helen beamed. "Well I'm still going to count it as a step in the right direction. You can't hide your magic forever, Bookworm. It's a part of you. You need it, and it needs you."

"Says you and everyone else. I'm not too bothered by it." She did her best to sound flippant; truth was, she'd been wondering if everyone was right. She felt loads better today than she had yesterday. Maybe her magic wasn't all that evil after all. "Anyway, we should run; the store closes in a little over an hour and a half." She stood up and walked around the kitchen table to give her parents a goodbye kiss. "I love you, and I'll try to be home soon."

"You come home when you're good and ready, love," Patrick said, "and not a minute before, understand?"

"I will, Dad."

Patrick Granger stood up and shook Draco's hand, then pulled him in and clapped his back. "It's good to see you again, Draco. Thanks for the help this afternoon with the grill. You'll have to come over sometime and see it in action; we'll grill steak like manly men." He grunted and Hermione shook her head.

"It was lovely to talk to you, Draco." Helen placed a kiss on his cheek, and Hermione swore she saw the Slytherin's face redden.

"You too, Mrs. Granger."

They headed out the front door and Hermione heard her father call out, "So long, and thanks for all the fish!" She laughed and ignored Malfoy's confused look.


	51. Day to Dusk

"Um, so what's with the fish thing?" Draco asked.

"It's a... thing," Hermione laughed. "It's from this book my dad and I like; The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Very silly. Very British. I'll loan it to you sometime; remind me when we get back, okay?"

They walked outside and stopped at the sidewalk. "I didn't think about how we were going to get there," Hermione confessed. "I would usually drive, but we're going to Apparate back..." she looked around, unsure of what to do.

"How far is it?" Draco asked.

"Not far, actually. Three miles, tops?"

He shrugged. "We could walk it. It's a nice enough night, and if we're quick about it, we'll make it there before close."

"Yeah, I guess so."

They walked in mostly silence for a good ten minutes, both thinking about the day. It was Draco who spoke first. "I'm glad we came."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be."

"Wait, you thought it would be bad?" she asked.

"Well, it's just that it's my first time out of the house in... well, you know. And I was pretty sure your parents would hate me. But I don't have to worry about people knowing me here, so there's a certain sense of freedom about it. And your parents, they're really nice people. You're dad is a bit strange, but in a good way."

Hermione laughed. "Yeah, you could say that."

"You're very... relaxed around them. Like you're friends, or something."

She smiled. "Well, we are, in a way. I mean, I'm their kid, and they drive me barmy sometimes, but we love each other. And we get along."

He nodded. "And what's that like?"

"It's nice. It wasn't like that with your parents, was it?"

"No, not exactly. Not all all, actually. I was the only son of two pureblood, aristocratic bloodlines. There were rules," he said dryly.

"You don't talk about them."

"No, I don't. There's not a whole lot to say that people wouldn't guess for themselves. They were public people; the way you saw them behave out of the home was very much like the way they behaved inside the home. I mean, they loved me; at least I know Mother did. She didn't grow up knowing how to love; it wasn't something she learned at home, but she did her best with me. Still, the way you are with your parents... it would be seen as improper to the extreme." He waved her away. "Anyway, I had a good time with your parents. And you?"

She smiled. "Yeah, I had a good time. I feel better after seeing Mum and Dad; more settled, like I'd hoped. Grimmauld Place isn't far from here, not really. But it seems like a different world sometimes." She sighed. "Even still... I don't know if I can just leave it all behind again and come home."

"Then don't," Draco muttered.

"It's not that easy," she argued. "I don't have a place in that world. If I'm not a witch, then what am I doing there? If you haven't noticed, Squibs aren't exactly welcomed with open arms."

He stopped in his tracks. "Did you just compare yourself to a sodding squib?"

"Well, you know what I mean." She waved him off.

"No, I don't know what you mean. A squib... shit. A squid isn't capable of magic, Hermione. I'm sure they'd love to have the kind of power we have, but they can't. It's just not in them. But you... you're a witch, whether you like it or not. You can ignore it, you can push it away, but it's still inside you. And as long as you're breathing, it's going to be there. If you continue to fight it, it will devour you from the inside, just like it did before. You have a choice to make, it's true, but it's not whether to be a Muggle or a fucking squib." He walked ahead, much faster than he'd been walking before.

"You're right."

He stopped again. "Pardon me?"

"You're right." She held up her hands. "But I don't know if it changes anything."

He stepped closer towards her until he was looking down into her eyes. "It changes everything. You did magic today for the first time in years, Granger. You were afraid, but you did it. And look, I'm not stuck in that bloody old house. That was you, understand? I wouldn't have left on my own. Whether or not you use it, you have power over things, and people. It's a part of you, and it will show itself one way or another."

She stared up at him, holding her breath. Was he going to kiss her again? There was a certain tension in the air, and she waited, not willing to move.

He broke their gaze and the mood when he turned away and said, "So where's this fancy coffee you promised me?"

"Just around the block."

They picked up the pace and walked into the door of the cafe just seven minutes before close. When they both had a drink in hand, Hermione led them to her store. She was so excited to see Marek and Edwin, she'd completely forgotten. "Erm, Malfoy. Speaking of squibs... I sort of let something slip my mind, something you probably need to know. Marek, he's one of my bosses, well... he's a squib. He lives as a Muggle, but there's a possibility that he may know who you are."

Draco just stared at her, silent.

"I mean, he won't do anything, or say anything. His partner, Edwin, doesn't even know that magic exists. And Mare, he's very open-minded. But I thought you should know. If you want to turn back, or wait outside, I'll understand."

"Are you sure he won't do anything? Sell a story to the Prophet, or stone me, or anything like that?" She shook her head no. "Well, then lead on, Granger, before they close."

The bell above the door rang and Edwin looked up in surprise. "No. It can't be." He looked to the back of the store and called, "Mare! It's our prodigal daughter!"

Marek walked as quickly as possible up to the front without running (because such a thing was decidedly uncouth, Hermione was sure). "You!" he cried, and hugged her tightly. "You little devil, leaving us like that! Where the bloody hell have you been, love?"

"I got help." She shrugged, and Marek nodded knowingly.

"So everything is... normal?" he asked.

"As normal as my life can be," she said.

He smiled and hugged her tight again, and then Edwin pulled her into an embrace. "We're just glad you're feeling like yourself again, love." His grip on her tightened and she laughed at exuberance shown by both men.

"Me too, Eddy. Oh! And this..." she looked around. "Um, did you see someone come in with me?"

"Tall, blonde and handsome?" Edwin teased. "He's lost among the racks, I'm afraid."

Hermione followed his gesture to the middle of the store where Draco was hurriedly scanning the shelves. "I told him the store closes soon; I think he wants to browse a bit."

Edwin squeezed her shoulder. "Oh come now, angel. You know we'd stay open late for you. Now I need to start on the deposit, but make yourself comfortable."

She frowned. "Could you wait a few minutes until we've looked around? I could really use some new reading material, and Dra... my friend will probably buy something as well. We'll be quick about it, I promise."

He shooed her away. "Your money's no good here, love, and same goes for your handsome friend. And you will tell me more about him later."

"Nothing to tell, Eddy."

"Mmmhmm. Tell that to your face; that smile's bigger than I've seen it for months." Hermione just shook her head and headed back towards the stacks.

Marek followed her and pulled her into a far corner. "Your friend, that's Draco Malfoy, isn't it? I recognize him from the Prophet."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Yes, it is.

"What on earth are you doing with him?" he hissed.

"He's been helping me with my little problem," she said. "He lives with Ron and Harry, and Elizabeth, too. You remember her."

"Wait, your friend who visits, Elizabeth? I don't understand."

"Elizabeth's real name is Astoria," Hermione explained, "and she's sort of Draco's adopted sister. They both live with Ron and Harry; have been for two years now. And Malfoy... he's a good guy, Mare, I promise. He's not his father, and he's not a Dark wizard. I wouldn't trust him if Harry didn't."

"You trust him? Completely?"

Hermione bit her lip and then nodded. "Yeah, I do."

"Well I suppose that's good enough for me. Just be careful, love."

"I will," she vowed.

Between looking at books and talking to both Marek and Edwin, they had spent over an hour and a half at the store. It was getting close to 10pm, and they walked out of the small shop weighed down by a very large stack of books. Hermione suggested that Draco shrink them down so they'd be easier to carry (as he'd done with her clothes and some trinkets from her room), but he just smiled and shook his head. "I don't mind carrying them." He ran his finger along the bindings. His very own Muggle books. He'd found one on magical history and lore (he was curious as to the Muggle view of such things), one similar to Hermione's humanities text (but less dull), two books on art, and then an assortment of literature.

Hermione suggested a location that would be best for Apparating; it was largely unpopulated and had many trees to hide behind. They were halfway there when Draco stopped to rearrange the books in his arms.

"Are you sure you don't want me to carry some of those?" she asked.

"No, I've got it." He bent to arrange the books into a more balanced stack and stood again. "Hey, Granger, I wanted to thank you for today. It was good. A good day."

"I should be thanking you. I got to see my parents, eat one of my favorite meals, and see two of my favorite people. And look!" She pointed at the load in his arms, "More books!"

"That Mongolian beef was amazing, by the way. I wonder if I could replicate it at home." He'd said home again, like it was theirs. He wondered if she'd notice.

"I dunno, but it would be brilliant if you could. Story once told me that Mongolian beef is good for the soul, and I think she's right."

"She knew them, Marek and Edwin? And your parents?"

"Yeah. She was there for me when I really needed someone. She's a good friend; actually, make that a great friend."

"Granger, are we friends?"

The question took her by surprise. "I suppose..." she ventured.

"Good," he nodded. "I thought so. I was just checking."

Before she had a real chance to ponder his question further, they were there. Draco reached out his elbow and Hermione took it. He looked down at her and smiled, and then they were gone.

* * *

The moment they opened the door to Grimmauld Place (having landed on the front stoop), everything changed.

Voices were heard all around them; they echoed from the kitchens, from the living room, from remote places upstairs. And each of them called their names.

Astoria got to them first, her eyes wild with worry. "Where on earth have you BEEN?" she screeched, her voice like squealing tires.

Then there was Harry, asking if they were alright. And then Ron, asking if Malfoy had somehow coerced Hermione out of the house with him as some sort of dastardly, evil scheme. Neville just stood there with his hands in his pockets, a bemused look on his face.

Neither Hermione nor Draco knew how to respond to the onslaught. Finally, after assuring everyone that yes, she was fine, she held up a hand for silence. "Didn't anyone read my note?" she asked.

"Like a note isn't easily forged. Or forced," said Ron.

"It's just that it didn't make sense," said Astoria.

"What part of 'Malfoy and I are going to visit my mum and dad, back sometime after dinner,' didn't make sense?" Hermione asked.

"The part with you and Malfoy, for one," said Ron.

"And the whole leaving the house bit sort of threw us," said Neville. "I mean, there's not a lot of precedent there, mate," he said apologetically, looking at Draco.

"Granger promised me Mongolian Beef," said Draco, "not that it's anyone's business in the slightest where the hell I choose to spend my time." He turned and started to walk away, and then came back and stood in front of Ron. "Or who I choose to spend it with," he hissed. And with that, he took off upstairs and slammed the door, juggling his books all the way.

"Alright everyone, 'Mione seems to be safe and sound, you can all go about your business," Astoria said, shooing the rest of the boys away. She marched Hermione up the stairs to the attic, not making a sound until the door was closed. "So what the hell happened, then?"

"I already told you. I wanted to see my mum and Dad, and Draco volunteered to come with me. Or was coerced, or whatever. There was a bit of hysterics and the promise of good food involved." She avoided Astoria's gaze as best she could.

"So you two just, what, decided to take a stroll to Muggle London?"

"Well, no, we took the floo."

"WAIT! You did magic!"

"Just a little bit," said Hermione, holding her thumb and forefinger an inch apart.

"That's... well that's just..." Astoria was at a loss for words. It was great, wasn't it? It felt great.

"It doesn't mean anything, Story. I still feel the same way. It was just for today, understand? I wanted to see my parents, and I wanted to eat Chinese food, and sip mochas, and visit the bookstore. That's all it was."

"Wait." Astoria held up her hand. "So you were there all day? You and Draco. Together. Visiting your parents, eating Chinese food, sipping mochas and visiting the bookstore? You've got to be kidding me."

Hermione shrugged. "It was pretty fun, actually."

Astoria clapped her hand over her mouth and her eyes got wide. "Oh my gods. You went on a date with Draco Malfoy."

"I did not!"

"Yes, yes you did. You took him to meet your parents, you took him to dinner, and then dessert, and then to meet your friends and see where you worked. Oh Merlin, you went on a bloody DATE!"

"No! It wasn't like that. I didn't take him to dinner, we got take-away and ate at home with Mum and Dad. And the coffee wasn't dessert, it was just on the way, and I wanted to see Marek and Edwin. I wasn't going to chain him up outside like a dog."

"No, no of course not." Astoria's eyes glittered with mischief. "Nothing at all like that. You just had him over to mummy and daddy's, where he sat and talked and ate dinner. And then you drove to work for a random social call, stopping for beverages on the way."

"Well, we walked, we didn't drive."

"Oh gods!" Astoria was squealing now. "Oh my bleeding, beautiful gods. You have no idea. None at all. Whether or not either of you admit it, that was definitely a date, 'Mione. What did you talk about?"

"Oh, you know. Books, Muggle things, our parents, the fact that my magic will eventually consume me if I don't start taking it seriously." She rolled her eyes at that last bit. "He was very into our microwave, and the grill Dad bought; he actually helped him set it up, can you believe that? And, oh my word, this was the best part: he quoted me poetry. Muggle poetry, can you imagine?"

Astoria bit her lip. This was much more serious than she had realized. If Draco was actually talking to Hermione instead of just insulting her... it meant something. Possibly more than either of them recognized. "'Mione, nothing... happened, did it? I mean, between you two?"

"No," the Gryffindor responded quickly.

"Okay." But she wasn't done. "Nothing at all? He didn't flirt with you, didn't give you any sort of signals? Like a boy does to a girl that he likes?"

Hermione's blush gave her away. "Well... I mean, he teased me a bit, like he usually does. And there was a moment, I suppose, that I thought..." She shook her head. "But he didn't kiss me again. I think it may have just been all in my head."

"AGAIN?" Astoria shrieked. "What the bloody hell do you mean 'again,' Granger? You tell me everything. Now."

So Hermione told her some things, just small things. Nothing that involved a scar on her stomach, nothing that revealed the moment earlier that day in her parents' kitchen, when things had felt suddenly clear and complicated at the same time. When she was done listing off Malfoy's taunts and had mentioned the small kiss he had given her, ("when I was really in a bad place," she explained) Astoria stood there with her mouth hanging open. "You'll catch flies, Story."

"I just... I can't believe it." She slid off the bed and landed on the ground. "How was this happening and I had no idea?"

"It's nothing," Hermione protested. "Seriously, don't make a big deal out of it."

"Do you like him?"

"Well, I don't hate him, if that's what you mean," she said defensively.

"If he tried to kiss you again, would you let him?"

"I..." Hermione started and then closed her eyes. She knew her hesitation had given her away.

"Oh!" Astoria squealed and stomped her feet. "I cannot believe this! I knew it! I so knew it. You're Elizabeth and he's Mr. Darcy. And he was all 'I'm so much better,' and you were all 'but you're a pompous twat,' and now you two..." she sighed. "Can I be a bridesmaid?" she asked seriously.

"Bloody hell, Astoria, none of that is going to happen. I'm not Elizabeth and he's not Mr. Darcy and it's not like that at all. We just have... I dunno, chemistry, or whatever. It's just tension. It's the not knowing, I'm sure. I mean, I bet you if I just gave him a good snog, I'd get it out of my system once and for all." Actually, that wasn't a bad idea.

"If you say so," Astoria sang.

"I DO say so. Now get out of here, I need to get to sleep."

Astoria headed for the door, then looked over her shoulder at her friend. "I bet you're sleepy. Draco must have worn you out," she teased, and barely escaped the flung pillow carefully aimed at her head.

Hermione laid back on her bed, looking for answers on the ceiling. Maybe she did need to get it out of her system. Get HIM out of her system. Just a snog to clear the air. To clear her head, more like. Well, if it got down to that, then she'd deal with it, she decided. But for right now, all she wanted to do was dream of simple things. Yet when she closed her eyes all she saw was blonde hair, gray eyes, and that damn teasing grin.


	52. Deal

Hermione rolled out of bed with not even a little grace. She'd had a difficult time falling asleep the night before. She found that she couldn't turn her brain off; she kept reliving the day's events, going over conversation and situations, playing 'what if' and 'just maybe.' And then there was the conversation with Astoria... her subconscious decided that should be on repeat, apparently. She'd given up looking at the clock around 3 in the morning, and when she looked at it now, she wasn't surprised to see it was after noon.

Her stomached growled noisily, so she made her way down to the kitchen. She took a peak into the fridge and saw a breakfast casserole; from the look of it, it was Molly's recipe, which was one of her favorites. When it was heated up (with a bit of extra cheese thrown on for good measure), she sat down to eat. There on the table was a note with her name on it. It was from Harry and Ron, who had invited her out for the evening. Just as she was reading it, Draco walked into the room.

"Ahh, saw your invitation to the Golden Trio Reunion Tour, did you?"

"Indeed. Been snooping, have you?"

He shrugged, not feeling the least bit guilty. The envelope hadn't been sealed or anything. "You three can reminisce about trolls and evil teachers and saving the world over and over," Draco droned. "Sounds riveting."

"Sad you weren't invited, Malfoy?" she teased.

"Desperately," he pined, clutching his heart. "No, Granger, in fact I have better things to do than play remember when. Full moon is early next week, you know. Have to get to work on this potion."

"Any leads?" asked Hermione.

"Nothing new, just what Nev and I've been talking about. I've got at least one new potion that's ready for trial, and I'm hoping to have three more before the weekend."

"That's admirable. Think you can do it in two and a half days?"

He nodded. "I've got the basic theories set, just need to work on the logistics. You can help, if you want."

She gave him a look. "Just because I did one itty bitty piece of magic doesn't make me an official member of the wizarding world."

"I know that," he said slowly, as if she were daft, "but I do think you're capable of stirring and chopping, if you really, really apply yourself."

"Oh. Yeah, I can do that."

"I knew all those years of schooling would come in handy sometime," he snarked.

They spent the next three hours in the laboratory. Hermione couldn't help feeling the tension in the air when she remembered the last two lab days when things had grown complicated. She couldn't be sure, but she thought Draco was thinking of the same thing. They didn't talk much, unless it was to hand off supplies or give instruction. It was very different from yesterday, when things had been so much easier. She knew part of it was her conversation with Astoria; she was seeing the situation through a different viewpoint now. But she couldn't help wondering if Ron's accusations had anything to do with the slight awkwardness she felt radiating from Draco. That, and they were back in the house again, where the whole of their history was much more keenly felt.

"How many volunteers do you have this month?" she inquired, trying to focus on the task at hand.

"A good amount," he said. "Apparently some word has gotten out that we've made the change entirely painless, and people are excited to see if we can really stop the process completely."

"That's exciting."

He nodded. "Yeah, it is. So far we've got 24 people signed up, and only half of them are on the werewolf registry. We don't turn them in to the Ministry, though, so they're willing to be trial subjects. It's all drawn up in the paperwork."

"Wow, 24 people. That's a lot of subjects... and a good amount of galleons, I'm guessing."

Draco nodded. "At 5 galleons per person, it gets pretty pricey."

"But that's... that's like six hundred quid! Gods, that's more than I made at the bookstore in two months! Granted, it's part-time work, but still... How on earth are you able to pay for that?"

"It's necessary, so we make it work."

"But you said your aunt's money... well, that it was meager, at best. How are you going to keep this up, Draco?"

He shrugged. "Guess we better cross our fingers that we get one of the potions right this time. I'm hoping to have 8 potions to try total, so we'll have three people testing each one. That should give us a good idea of what works and what doesn't. We'll account for age and sex, try to keep each group as heterogeneous as possible, and hope for the best."

"And your parents' fortune... you said that it was in Ministry hands, is that right?"

He nodded curtly.

"And you haven't gone to find out what needs to be done to be granted access, have you?"

"You already know the answer to that one, Granger."

She did. Hadn't left the house in two years, save for the Burrow and Muggle London. But he didn't seem keen on the idea of visiting the Ministry any time soon, so she left the subject alone.

For now.

* * *

Harry and Ron were home at half past six, and Harry explained that work ran a bit later than usual. Hermione wasn't sure what was planned for the evening, so she put on a simple olive green blouse and brought a navy blue cardigan with, just in case. It was almost mid-May, and although the warm weather had come early this year, some nights still held a bit of a chill.

She'd been at Grimmauld Place for almost three weeks, and she didn't feel particularly different, except that she wasn't experiencing any more panic attacks. No one had said so specifically, but she was pretty sure that she wouldn't be deemed 'healthy' within a week or so. She had felt better yesterday than today, and she was sure it was because she'd preformed magic. It was the obvious answer, but she didn't feel ready to face it head on. Sure, the foundations of the world hadn't crumbled, and she hadn't killed anyone, but she still felt terrified when she considered doing more complex spells.

It was seven o'clock when they were seated at their table in the restaurant. Harry and Ron had asked her where she wanted to go for supper, and she'd taken them to a local Italian restaurant her parents preferred. She'd considered Thai, but knew better than to ask Ron to suffer through foods he couldn't pronounce (it was a real pet peeve of hers that he wouldn't even try the food).

"Well, boys, this is lovely! I don't know if we've ever been to a nice restaurant before, the three of us, I mean." She took a sip of her wine and hummed in satisfaction.

Harry smiled. "Well, it's just that we haven't really had a chance to catch up, just us. And I'm sorry for that, Bookworm. You came back and everything was different; I'm sure it was a difficult adjustment, and I'm sorry for the part that I played."

"Me too," said Ron around a mouthful of meatball.

She waved them off. "There were some trying times at first, I'll admit, but everything's just fine now."

"Yeah," said Ron, "I don't know how you adjusted to Malfoy. Slimy Slytherin git," he muttered.

"Are you forgetting that your girlfriend is a Slytherin, Ronald?" asked Hermione, her eyes rife with mischief.

"That's different," he protested, "She's... well, she's good."

"And Draco is...?" Hermione asked, her voice growing harder.

"Well, he's just... What I mean to say is... Well he was a Death Eater, 'Mione! I don't know how everyone keeps forgetting that. I mean, sure, he's a decent enough housemate, and he seems to take care of Astoria alright, which I appreciate, but that doesn't forgive his history. You two spend so much time together, I'm worried that he's... I dunno. And the way that he looks at you sometimes, I mean, we've all seen it... I just don't trust him." Specks of marinara sauce flung from Ron's mouth during his impassioned and somewhat disorganized speech.

Hermione's expression grew downright icy. "And what would you say about my history, Ron?"

"That's different!" he repeated. "You know it is. You did what you had to do! We all know that."

"And he didn't?" she asked. "He didn't do what he had to do, in order to survive? In order to protect his family? And when his mother had been killed, he left, didn't he? When the one thing keeping him with Voldemort was gone, he left and defected and kept a promise to his friend. A promise to protect your girlfriend. Which he's done. For years."

"But he killed Muggles!"

"No," she shook her head, "No, he didn't. How much do you really know about what happened to him?" She turned to Harry. "He doesn't know, does he?"

"Draco asked me to keep that information confidential. The only ones who know are him and me, and the members of the Wizengamot. And they literally cannot tell."

"And me," Hermione said. She turned to Ron. "You have no idea what he's been through. The way his father was, the way that Voldemort held his family prisoner in their own home. They were tortured, all of them. His mother bore the brunt of it, since she lied about Harry's death. I daresay that if any of us grew up the way he did, if it were we who were thrust into that situation... well, I don't know if we'd have come out of it as well as he has. He didn't kill Muggles, Ron. He was forced to torture some, but the only person he ever killed... well, he did it out of mercy. To put her out of her misery. I, on the other hand, killed at least two innocent men, and many, many others. Are you going to hold my crimes against me? Keep me away from Harry and Astoria?" she asked.

"'Mione," he whispered, his voice breaking, "You know I would never..."

"Then how can you do it to him?" she asked.

Harry cleared his throat. "Uh, I think people are staring," he said nervously.

"Let them stare," said Hermione. "I need for him to understand. Ron, I am happy for you and Astoria. She's what I wanted for you; a girl who could love you the way you needed. But please, don't try to control my life, Ronald. What you said yesterday to Malfoy... it was cruel. And it was a bit insulting, actually, that you would think that I could be manipulated, or coerced, or whatever. Because Draco was right: it's not anyone's business where I choose to spend my time. And it's not your business, or anyone else's, who I choose to spend it with." She folded up her napkin and began to stand when Ron grabbed her hand.

"Wait," he said. "Just... just sit, okay?"

She sat down slowly.

"This wasn't supposed to be an interrogation," he explained apologetically. "Let's just drop it, please."

"No," said Hermione. "Not before you tell me that you trust my judgment, especially when it comes to my own life."

He stalled. "Come on, 'Mione, you know that I do."

"Say it."

He looked at Harry, who had long abandoned his fettuccine alfredo. Harry just shrugged.

"Fine," he said, "I trust your judgment, especially when it comes to your own life. Although you should have known that already," he added.

"And you?" she looked to Harry, her eyebrow raised.

"What about me?"

"I want to hear you say it too, Harry. You were silent all through the conversation, which means that a part of you agreed with Ron, even after knowing what you do. So I want to hear it from you, too."

"I trust your judgment, Bookworm, especially when it comes to your life. I just don't want to see you get hurt."

"Thank you. But who's going to get hurt?" she asked innocently.

Harry frowned. "So nothing's going on with you and Malfoy, then?"

She shrugged. "We're friends, if that's what you mean."

"That's not what..."

Just then the waiter approached their table, and Hermione quickly ordered dessert and then changed the subject. She could defend Malfoy, sure, especially when he wasn't there to defend himself. But she wasn't about to talk to Harry and Ron about any supposed flirtations. "So, how's Ginny?" she asked brightly.

Harry's smile grew large as he gushed about his girlfriend. Hermione half-listened as he listed off her accomplishments, and then Harry and Ron began to discuss Quidditch strategies until the check came.

Back at Grimmauld Place, Ron walked Hermione to the attic door, and then stopped and drew her in for a quick hug. "I will try harder with Malfoy, I promise. And... thank you. For understanding about Astoria."

She nodded. "You're lucky to have her, Ron. I hope you know that."

"Yeah," he said, looking at his feet and scratching the back of his neck. "I know."

"Does she know that you love her?" asked Hermione.

His eyes shot up and he blushed deeply. "Uhh... well..."

"You should tell her," she said, and stepped into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. She smiled a soft smile. Astoria owed her for that one.

* * *

It was Thursday afternoon, and Hermione had been helping Draco in the laboratory for at least two hours. Her back hurt from hunching over the work table, and her hand was stiff from grasping a blade. She had been carefully preparing the wolfsbane for the lycanthropy potion; it was of vital importance that not a single sliver of leaf enter the potion, as they were toxic. However, the flowers that were used in the potion were very rare, so every single petal needed to be carefully plucked and separated. She found the task easiest to do with a very fine blade, but it was tedious work, no doubt. She stood up and stretched, groaning at the effort.

"Merlin, I feel like we've been at this for days," she complained. "How can you work for so long down here?"

"Potion-making is sort of my thing," muttered Draco. He didn't look up from his work.

"Yeah, I recall that. Still, it can drive a person bonkers, all that prep work."

He murmured his agreement as he carefully added incredibly tiny drops of antimony to some of the small vials lined up in front of him.

"We should get out of the house," Hermione declared, "Take a walk or something. It looks like a beautiful day, but there's no way we'd know, stuck inside this dank room."

"Fine, just give me ten more minutes," he said. She was surprised he so readily agreed to leave the house again. Twice in two days! It was impressive, but she didn't let on.

"Okay. Ten minutes." Better not give him too much of a chance to change his mind.

"Uh, make it twenty, actually. I don't want to rush this." Twenty was pushing it, but if he was amenable...

"Okay, twenty. No more, though. Be ready." She went upstairs to take a quick shower and to change into something other than a long-sleeved t-shirt and pajama pants.

When twenty minutes were over, he wasn't in the laboratory, the kitchen, or the living room. She made her way to the third floor and knocked on what she assumed to be his bedroom; she'd never actually seen the inside. "Come on Malfoy, let's go!"

The door flung open and he was sitting on the bed, wand in one hand, a shoe in the other. "Merlin, I was so wrong all those years I thought you were bossy. Obviously you have the patience of a saint." He smirked as he tied the laces and then looked at his watch. "Wow, twenty-two minutes, I'm going to make us so late for this impromptu walk to nowhere. What if they start without us?"

"Shut it, snake-boy," she said, but there was a smile in her voice.

"I'm not going to bite if you step inside the doorway," he responded. She accepted the quasi-invitation and stepped into the room. She'd expected more green and silver, and there was some, but not as much as she'd have guessed. She let her eyes sweep across the small expanse, landing on stacks of books (mostly hers), some parchment and quills, a bottle of what looked to be sleeping potion, and a photograph. It was magical, obviously, because the blonde-haired people inside the frame moved. Not much, just a little. It was more of a portrait than a photograph; the three figures were carefully arranged, and it wouldn't be obvious the photo was moving if you looked at the elder figures. Both Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy sat still as stone, their eyes trained ahead on what had to be the photographer. But the smallest member of the family, looking to be no more than maybe seven or eight years old, was looking behind him at his mom and dad and then back at the camera. The smile on his face looked real, and proud.

Hermione had picked up the frame without really realizing it, and Draco moved to stand behind her.

"That was just before my eighth birthday," he said, answering her unasked question.

"You look happy," she said.

"I was," he said, breathing across the back of her neck. She arched her back and then moved to the side and faced him.

"Why do you keep moving away every time I stand by you?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Sometimes you stand a little bit too close," she said.

"Do I make you uncomfortable?"

"Incredibly."

"In a bad way?" he whispered, stepping closer.

"I haven't decided that just yet." He leaned closer and she put a hand to his chest. It felt warm and hard beneath her fingers. "Ah, we don't want to be late on our impromptu walk to nowhere, right?"

Draco smiled and rocked back on his heels. "Right you are. Lead the way, Bossy-Pants."


	53. Diversion

They had been walking without any real destination for about five minutes when Hermione had to ask the question that had been on her mind for days.

"That bracelet you always wear," she asked, "where did you get it?"

He laughed. "Story made it for me. It was for my birthday, almost two years ago. I was under house arrest and she refused to leave me at Grimmauld by myself, so she found some yarn in the attic and did her best. It's sort of hideous, isn't it?"

"It's... interesting."

"It's hideous."

"All right then, it's hideous." She grinned. "But you wear it anyway, because it was from Story."

He nodded. "Yup. I'm sort of hoping one day she either begs me to take it off or makes me something to take its place. But it's nice, the sentiment I mean. It was hard to get close to people in Slytherin house; most of the time, you made friends out of necessity, not because you were good mates, you know? It's never been that with Story."

"What do you mean by necessity?"

He scratched his head. "Well, we had to stick together, Slytherins. Couldn't let anyone with bad blood into our happy little circle," he said sarcastically. "But there was also the fact that the rest of the school didn't like us."

"That's not true," Hermione protested.

"Sure it was. And it's not that we didn't give everyone enough reasons to dislike us, but the prejudices went both ways."

She nodded, thinking about Slytherin house. She hadn't paid attention to Astoria while they were in school, but she would have probably judged her not only on her house affiliation, but on her snotty older sister. And she would have missed a really amazing friendship because of her preconceived notions.

"So your birthday, when is it?" she asked, trying to change the subject.

"June fifth; couple weeks away."

"Thinking of doing anything fun?"

"Why so curious? It's not like you plan on being here." He tried to keep his voice light; it didn't work well.

"You never know. My parents' house isn't far. I could always visit."

"Would you?"

"Maybe," she said, a smile playing on her lips.

"You should."

"Okay."

They were within two blocks of King's Cross Station before Hermione paid attention to where they were. "Draco, do you realize where we've been walking towards?"

"Hmmm?" He looked around. "Doesn't look very familiar to me; should I recognize it?" She supposed not. It wasn't as if the Malfoys walked to King's Cross, nor would they drive. In fact, she was pretty sure that they would Apparate as close as possible to the station so as not to mingle with the Muggles.

"Tell me when you do," she said, and kept walking to the station. It wasn't until they could actually see the building that Malfoy made some sort of noise in recognition.

"King's Cross is here?" he asked, looking around him as if to get his bearings.

"Yes! Let's go inside, shall we?" It had been years since she'd been here, and a little bubble of happiness made its way up her spine. She'd been there so many times, her trunk full of supplies and her head full of knowledge. She'd loved coming here, loved waiting for the train and thinking of a new school year. They made their way to Platform 9 3/4, and just stood there, thinking.

"It feels like a lifetime ago, doesn't it?"

He nodded. "It's been even longer for you, I suppose, missing all of seventh year."

"Yeah."

They stood there, lost in their own thoughts. "You know," said Hermione, "we're really not that far from the Ministry of Magic."

He gave her a look.

"If we push it, we could be there in a half hour."

"Speaking of pushing it..." he warned.

"Come on! It's yours, Draco. Your money, from your family. You deserve it! Here you are trying to do something good for the whole wizarding world, and it's costing you so much. You won't be able to fund the experiments forever; if it's not this furry little problem," she said, looking around, "it'll be something else. Let's just go and see what needs to be done, just start the process."

"You're not going to give this up, are you?"

She shook her head. "It's not likely."

"I don't want any trouble," he muttered.

"I'll be with you the whole time," Hermione said. "If they want trouble, they can deal with me."

"Salazar, you are such a Gryffindor sometimes." He rolled his eyes.

"Thank you," she said primly. "Now move your arse, we haven't got all day."

* * *

The walk to the Ministry was longer than she'd anticipated, once traffic was calculated into the equation. It was mid-afternoon by the time they got to the general area.

"Uh, let's see here," said Hermione, "Last time I was here you had to flush yourself in, but I doubt they've kept that up." She saw Draco gag at the thought and smiled. Sometimes it was too easy.

She walked to a nearby telephone booth, and dragged Draco inside. She was just about to dial a number when he grabbed her hand.

"Just... before we do this... People will see us. Together. Someone's going to say something, and everyone will know that we were here." He looked serious, and Hermione tried to shrug it off. "Are you ashamed to be seen with me?" she teased, but her eyes held uncertainty.

"No, but I'd understand if you felt that way about me."

"I don't," she said, flashing him a soft smile, and she dialed the number she remembered Mr. Weasley using years ago. The booth didn't move, but a voice answered. "Ministry, may I help you?" Hermione noticed that the "Magical" part of the title was left off for what could only be clandestine reasons; still, it had to be the Ministry of Magic, right? No other Ministry would be answering a telephone box. "Erm, hello. My name is Hermione Granger and I'm here with Draco Malfoy. We need to discuss Mr. Malfoy's access to his family vault at Gringott's. It's just... well, we don't know how to get inside."

"I see." There was a pause. "Please list a possible use for wormwood."

"Uh... it's used in the Elixir to Induce Euphoria, and in the Draught of the Living Death. But I'd prefer the former over the latter, myself." She shrugged and looked at Draco in confusion.

"One moment please."

There was a serious of buzzes and beeps and then the phone booth sunk slowly beneath the ground, subtly gathering speed until Hermione's stomach turned. It slowed down as they approached the hidden levels of the Ministry far below the street, and then the door opened. A small wizard greeted them both. "Right this way, Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy." They followed the short man through the lobby of the Ministry, and Hermione was happy to see the terrible statue that had disgraced the Ministry back in Voldemort's days was gone, and it was replaced by a statue extolling the virtues of tolerance, cooperation, and equality. It appeared the Ministry was in good hands.

The lift they were led into delivered them to a small office. Once inside, Draco and Hermione sat down in front of a witch who looked to be very old indeed, although her no-nonsense attitude revealed a sharp mind. She glanced down at Draco's arm, just as the shorter wizard had done, but said nothing about the Slytherin's former status as a Death Eater. She placed a long piece of parchment in front of Draco.

"Mr. Malfoy, if I could please see your wand while you read over this document. If you agree to the conditions stated below, please sign." Draco handed over his wand and the witched examined it, going so far as to check the last spell cast. Hermione leaned close to Draco and read along with him. The terms of the contract were straight-forward; once Draco signed the parchment, he would have complete control over his family's assets, and the Ministry would be relinquished of all culpability. He was expected to pay all the appropriate taxes on his inheritance, and he would be given sole ownership of not only the vault, but of any properties and holdings once owned by his parents.

"Excuse me," Hermione said with a frown, "but doesn't it seem necessary that the vault be inspected by Mr. Malfoy before he signs a form releasing the Ministry of any responsibility regarding his inheritance?"

The old witched sniffed and pointed to a small addendum at the bottom of the page. "It clearly states here that if Mr. Malfoy finds his estate to be in an unreasonable order, he can submit an appeal to the Wizengamot. Appeals will be responded to within five days, per section 42 part D of the Ministry's Guide to Inheritance and Familial Dealings. However, I can tell you, Mr. Malfoy," she said his name between tight lips, purposefully ignoring Hermione, "that the only thing the Ministry has taken from that vault was the 100,000 galleons that your family owed in reparations. Anything else was left exactly as it was found at the end of the war."

"Of course," Draco murmured, and signed the document. Hermione sat there shaking her head and muttering beneath her breath, "Just doesn't seem right."

When the parchment was signed, the witch gave Draco back his wand. She hit the rolled up scroll and an identical copy appeared next to it on the desk. She handed it to Draco, and then flicked her wand. A rope of what looked to be molten metal oozed from her wand and, once hardened, formed a key. She picked it up gingerly and handed it to Draco. "This key will let you into your vault; the head goblin at Gringott's also has a copy, but I would urge you to hold on to yours, as he's not known for his benevolence." Draco pocketed the key and shifted in his seat. "Ah, are we done, then?"

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy," the witch said with a sigh, not bothering to look up from the stack of paperwork that had floated onto her desk.

"Well, thanks," he said with a shrug, and Hermione followed him out. "That was easier than I would have ever guessed."

"Now comes the really interesting part; finding out what's in that vault."

"Don't expect much," he warned. "Voldemort and his followers took much of the treasures that were in our home; I don't doubt they found their way into our vault as well."

"Maybe there's more than you thought," said Hermione. "Maybe there's... I dunno, another 100,000 galleons."

He laughed. "There's no way! I was surprised that there was half that for the Ministry to take. They must have found and sold some of Father's properties."

Hermione clucked her tongue. "I'm still going to guess 100,000 galleons. What about you? What's your official guess?"

"I'm just hoping we have enough to pick up some sweets on the way back. If Story finds out I was dragged to Diagon Alley without her and didn't stop somewhere to pick her up a little something... well, I'm guessing she'll make me a matching friendship sweater to go with this horrible bracelet."

"Guess I'll have to find her some more yarn," said Hermione. "Shall we take a floo to Diagon Alley?"

Draco hesitated. The Ministry was bad enough, but Diagon Alley itself? Anyone could see them there, and the possibility of getting a photo in the Daily Prophet was high. Maybe this was a bad idea. It distinctly felt like a bad idea.

"Come on," urged Hermione, "The sooner we get there the sooner we can leave."

"Or we could just not go."

"No." She shook her head. "We've gone this far; if we leave now, there's no telling when you'll come back. We're going. Right now."

It was a quick trip, of course, and they found themselves in the bar of the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione had managed to land better this time, and she only had a bit of soot on her. They both noticed every eye in the place firmly cast in their direction, but they did their best to ignore everyone.

"Come on, Draco," said Hermione loudly, placing a hand on the Slytherin's arm, "let's find some place a bit less musty." She turned up her nose and walked out the door, Draco close on her heels.

"Musty?" he said with a smirk.

"Well I couldn't exactly say 'someplace with less nosy and rude customers,' now could I?"

"I'd have to liked to see that, actually."

Once inside Gringott's, Draco requested access to his vault. He was asked for his wand and his key, both which he produced immediately. The goblin in front of him looked over both carefully, and then nodded towards a door. Draco began to follow him, and then saw Hermione hadn't moved.

"Coming, Granger?"

"Did... I mean, you probably want to do this by yourself. It's sort of... personal."

He leaned over to whisper in her ear. "It shouldn't surprise you to know that my family wasn't exactly kind to most magical creatures, including goblins. If one of these midgets decides to kill me down there, I want someone to nag them into at least trying to locate my body. You're coming with me."

Well, there wasn't much arguing with that.

The Malfoy vault was very old, and very deep underground. Hermione couldn't help but remember the last time she'd been there; she'd been dressed like Bellatrix Lestrange, Draco's aunt. And they'd had to escape on a dragon.

Good times.

They were finally there, and the goblin (Hermione hadn't gotten his name) worked his magic, and then the vault was open.

There was definitely more than 100,000 galleons there.

"Oh my gods, Malfoy, you're filthy stinking rich." She looked at him; he hadn't said anything yet. And by the look on his face, he wasn't able to do so.

There was SO much gold. On top of that there were relics: ancient armor, intricate rugs, and at least two beautifully decorated Pensieves. "How...?" asked Hermione, not sure where to start.

"How is this possible?" Draco said, his voice strangled.

"The Malfoy family vault was broken into by Voldemort himself," the goblin said, "but much of the treasure was protected by old magic. It couldn't be stolen, only given out of pure intentions."

"Then it could never been given," muttered Draco darkly. "Not by my family."

"Okay, it's official," said Hermione.

"What's that?" Draco asked.

"You're buying lunch. And dessert."

* * *

It was getting very close to dinnertime when Draco mentioned he'd like to drop by the bookstore.

"Flourish and Blotts?" asked Hermione.

"No, the one you work at."

"There's no way you could have finished those books already."

"Not all," he said, "although I've gotten through a few. I wanted to thank you friends again, properly."

"Oh that's not necessary. I mean, you already said thanks the other night."

"Still. I have a card," he padded he back pocket and produced it, "and I'd just like to stop by for a few minutes."

"Wait... you have a thank-you card? Seriously?"

He sighed. "Granger, some of us were brought up with manners. You know, in polite society. We do things like send thank-you cards and eat with utensils. It's great, you'd like it."

They located a pay phone once they were out of Diagon Alley, and Hermione left a message on the answering machine at Grimmauld. She let whoever listened to the message know that they'd be home at 7 PM at the latest, and that they'd bring dinner.

They'd decided to take a Muggle taxi to the shop. It was about ten miles away, and although Hermione thought they could Apparate to the park they'd visited before, Draco was keen on taking Muggle transport.

He tried to stifle his awe and amusement at being in a car, but it didn't work too well.

The shop was open, and would be for at least another hour or two, unless Mare and Eddy decided to close early. When they walked in the door, Mare was at the front, reading the newspaper. It was obvious from his smile and his raised eyebrows that he was both happy and surprised to see them.

"Two times in one week? What on earth have I done to earn this?" Marek teased.

Hermione leaned over the counter and grinned. "Oh, it was all Draco this time. Seems he has a thank-you card for you and Eddy. For the books."

Draco flushed. "I just... wanted to let you know how much I appreciate it. And," he said, reaching into a side pocket of his jeans, "I got you this as well." He pulled out a small box and whispered an incantation while waving his hand over it. The box grew until it was about the size of a textbook, and then it stopped. Draco handed the box over, avoiding Marek's eyes. "Chocolates. From Fortescue's."

Hermione stared at him in shock, her mouth hanging open. "Oh my gods."

Marek beamed at her and leaned in close. "You hold on to this one, love." He moved in front of Draco and smiled. "Thank you, Draco. I must say, I was unsure of you at first," he gave the Slytherin a knowing look, "but then Hermione went on and on about how she trusted you, and that you were a good friend, and how you deserved a second chance. And I don't want to speak for her, but I'm guessing she's noticed just how fit you are as well." He smirked at Hermione who looked flabbergasted, not to mention pissed.

"Okay, that's enough," said Hermione, "I think we're ready to leave."

"Oh come on angel, I was just teasing you. You do make it rather fun."

"I'm going to grab a coffee," said Draco, who'd been slowly inching towards the door. "That place we went to, it's just a few doors down, yeah?"

"Uh, yeah, just turn to the right, walk a block, and you'll see it," Hermione said, speaking through her hair. She couldn't bear to make eye contact after that. She was already dealing with weird feelings, and now Mare had embarrassed her by pointing out the ridiculously obvious... it was not good.

"Okay. Just... take your time," he said, and walked out the door.

She did. Edwin had showed up fifteen minutes after she'd arrived, and the three of them enjoyed catching up. Both men pressured her for details on her blonde friend, and she had finally admitted that she found him attractive. "But that's it," she swore. "He's a friend."

"A friend you want to know in a very naked way," said Mare with a leer.

"Gods, Marek! You're a dirty old man sometimes."

"Excuse me," he asked Edwin, "but did she just call me old?"

"I'm sorry, but I think she did." Edwin looked at the clock. "We'd better start wrapping up the day, love. But it's been wonderful to see you. Come back to visit soon, and thank you handsome friend for the chocolates. Tell him it was completely unnecessary, but that he's welcome to bring us sweets whenever he wants."

"Will do," she said, hugging them both.

It was just past six-thirty by the time she reached the coffee shop, and she felt a wave of guilt run through her. She shouldn't have left Draco alone this long. It was only his second time out of the house in two years, and she's pushed him into one thing after another. She wouldn't be surprised if he was somewhat upset with her. In fact, she'd understand if he was downright pissed.

And he was nowhere to be found in the coffee shop. She'd even asked the barista, who told her that he'd left almost an hour ago. Feeling panic set in, she raced up the street, looking in every window, hoping to find him. Would he have just left her? It was possible. But still, what if he was lost? Or worse, what if he was in trouble? He didn't know Muggle culture, and he could have said something wrong, or done something...

"Shit, shit, shit," she muttered as her feet slapped the sidewalk. He was nowhere, and she suddenly cursed herself for not getting a mobile phone. She could send a Patronus, technically, but there was no telling who he'd be around. That and she hadn't done the spell in so long, she wasn't sure she'd be able to muster a real Patronus.

She'd just about considered giving up when she saw a flash of blonde in a store across the way, just a few doors down. She flew across the street (after looking both ways, of course) and stopped in front of the store.

"Ohhhh shit," she hissed. There was no way... he wouldn't...

She barged into the shop and let the door slam behind her. "Malfoy. You didn't."

"I did," he smirked from across the room. She closed her eyes as the gun punched holes in his skin, depositing ink below the surface. The large man bending over his arm was concentrating as he dragged the gun in smooth lines. She began to walk towards the Slytherin when he cautioned her to remain where she was.

"You do realize that this is permanent," she hissed. "Like, forever. You walk into some random tattoo shop, out of the blue, and you decide to permanently mar your body, is that it?"

He shrugged. "It was an easy enough decision the first time."

"But -"

"Look, Granger, I'm covering up a mistake, okay? It's my choice. It's already done, whether you like it or not. So you can either shut up and sit down or you can go home without me. I can manage on my own, you know."

She slouched down into a chair and sulked as she waited. She listlessly flipped through the book she'd picked out at the shop, trying not to listen to the sound of a needle jabbing into her friend's skin.

"Alright," the tattoo artist grunted, "take a look."

Draco stood up from the chair and walked to the mirrored wall. Hermione couldn't see his arm from her vantage point, and she tried not to make it look like she was paying attention to him. "It's perfect," he said, his voice strange. "Granger, would you like to come see, or are you still playing mummy?"

She grumbled a nasty retort but stood up and walked over to him. She refused to look down at his arm until she'd said her piece. "You should have waited. Thought it over for a while, looked at different designs."

"I've been thinking about it for a couple days," he said. "Does that count?"

"No."

"Well it came out just as I'd envisioned," he said, turning his arm to show the detail. Hermione glanced down and gasped. "Like it?" he asked with a smirk.

"It's... it's nice," she lied.

It wasn't nice. It was exquisite. It was hauntingly beautiful, and it affected her deeply. A phoenix in flight, the color of flame. The tail feathers floated down his arm, and they looked almost suspended above his pale skin. It was an equal measure of delicate and strong. It radiated power. "It's magnificent," she said, leaning toward to take a closer look. "You can't see the mark at all, can you?"

It was true. Not a bit of it shown through the phoenix. "It's gone," she whispered.

"Not gone," he said. "Just buried. Some things should stay that way." He nodded to the artist who came over to wrap up the design in gauze. After getting directions on how to care for it, the two set off into the night. It was definitely past seven now. They quickly stopped by a restaurant and picked up some Mexican for take-away.

"Weasley's going to think I kidnapped you again," said Draco. They were almost at the place they'd Apparated last time, which was good, since the food was getting cold. Or it would have, if Draco hadn't put a warming spell on it.

Hermione shook her head. "No, I set him straight on that."

"Did you tell him that you trust me? That I was a good friend, deserving of a second chance?" He raised an eyebrow and smirked, and she felt the blood rush to her cheeks again.

"No, I told him you were an incorrigible twat, but that I am an adult capable of making my own decisions."

"Mmmhmmm. You're a shit liar, Granger."

"Shove it Malfoy, and get us out of here."

"So very bossy," he said, pulling her closer than necessary, and Apparating them away.


	54. Down and Dirty

Friday started off normal, like so many days before it. Hermione woke up, went downstairs, and inevitably ended up talking to Malfoy. It was expected, even comforting now. They'd bicker and flirt a bit, and he'd end up in the lab and she'd end up either keeping herself occupied or helping him. He had said that he wanted the potions prepared before the weekend, but now that he had money, real actual heaping tons of money, his ambition grew. He no longer wanted enough potions for 24 people; instead, he wanted those potions plus as many base potions as possible. Draco hoped that they'd find the correct mix at the full moon, but if not, he wanted to be able to add ingredients to the wolfsbane potion without having to brew a new batch. It made sense, but it was a lot of work. He'd apparently sent an owl off with a rather large order of ingredients either that morning or the night before, because when Hermione entered the lab, the entire table was full of plants and vials and labels.

"Ah, Granger," he said, not looking up from his cauldron, "I was just about to go looking for you. Can you start on the wolfsbane?" She looked at the pile of plants; there was an entire bushel of it, maybe more. Hermione groaned. "Seriously?"

He nodded. "It'll go faster if you use magic, you know."

She shot him a look and went about locating the very fine blade she preferred, and then she set about her work. He left the room after an hour or so and came back with two cups of tea. She eagerly drank hers down, even if it was a bit too far on the scalding side of hot. She heard a click and then music filled the room. It was the Muggle radio, and once again, Malfoy was humming along under his breath. She smiled. Merlin, he was odd.

It was sometime around her third hour of cutting and slicing and dicing that she excused herself from the room. She came back with a refilled cup of tea, and a fresh pot in case Malfoy wanted a refill. He watched her sit back down and fiddle with the potions knife, and then he stared in amusement as she produced her wand and muttered an almost silent spell. The flower petals separated from the leaves and stem, but it was only because they'd been completely decimated. He watched her grimace and try it again, but the result was the same.

"Say it louder," he said, "and enunciate."

"What's that?" she asked.

"The spell. Say it louder and enunciate."

To her credit, she didn't try to deny the fact that she'd been doing magic. "Not sure it's that simple," she grumbled, but she tried it. It worked perfectly.

"You were mumbling," Draco said with a smirk. "Keep at it though, or we'll be here all day. You cut way too slowly."

"I'll cut something," she mumbled, and then she remembered to enunciate, "if you don't shut it right now."

He clicked his tongue at her but didn't say another word. She continued to remove the petals with her wand, and yeah, it was a lot faster. Incredibly so, in fact. She was done with the pile in less than ten minutes, and she looked around the room for her next task.

"If you could heat up the cauldron and work on the first seven ingredients," Draco said, pointing to the spellbook in front of him, "I'm almost done with the last bit." She nodded.

The potion was complex, but not difficult. It required precise counting, however, and careful stirring. They had decided to make a batch fifteen times larger than a normal batch, so she checked and double-checked her ingredients before putting them into the cauldron. It took the better part of an hour and a half, but she finished. Draco took over the last part, adding the remaining vamp plant venom to the mix and then activating the smelly contents of the cauldron with magic.

"So it's done?" Hermione asked.

"We have to let it sit for two hours before we bottle it," said Draco, "but other than that, yeah, it's done."

"Normally a werewolf would have to take the wolfsbane potion every night for a week before the full moon; I don't know how you managed to lower that to just the day of the full moon, but it's impressive."

He smirked, "Yeah, well, I can't take all the credit for that. Neville and I were messing around with ratios and he figured it out. I would have gotten there eventually, but it was technically him that won that one."

"Even after the Battle of Hogwarts, I don't think I'd have guessed Neville would ever get here," said Hermione. "He's still Neville, but he's just so much more confident and composed."

Draco laughed. "Yeah, and unfortunately, he's no longer scared of me."

"And I hear he's quite popular with the witches." Hermione glanced at Draco and then lowered her eyes.

"That's what he says, at least," said Draco.

"That's what Story reports as well. Apparently he's worked his way through a good amount of our classmates, including an old roommate of mine."

"I could put in a good word for you," Draco teased.

"Thanks, I think I'm okay," said Hermione. "Plus, that's just weird. I mean, it's Neville."

Draco shrugged. "Like you said, he's changed. We all have."

She nodded. "Guess so."

With the potion sitting and two hours to go before it needed to be bottled, Hermione decided to take a short nap. It was still a few hours before dinner, and she figured she could take a shower before everyone got home. She'd even have time for a bath, if she wished; that sounded perfect.

* * *

When she opened her eyes she found herself tangled in a mess of sheets and blankets. She lifted her head with a groan, noticing a distinct pressure in the front of her skull. It was the sort of headache one gets from sleeping too long. She looked out the window and saw a bit of sky through the curtains. It was streaked through with colors: magenta, tangerine, and a deep indigo. She groaned again; she'd obviously slept for hours. Stretching, she pushed up from the bed and put her head in her hands. She'd wasted a good portion of the day. Not that she'd had any real plans, but still.

Shower. It had seemed like a good idea before her nap and a brilliant one now. The water beat down on her, washing away her sleepiness and the majority of her headache. Once she was dressed and feeling a bit more chipper, she made her way downstairs in search of leftovers from dinner. She passed the living room and did a double take; the room was full, which she hadn't really expected. It was strange to go to bed in an almost empty house and then find it occupied upon waking.

Astoria greeted her from where she was leaning against Ron. They'd gotten better about the whole touching thing, and seemed much more comfortable around each other and Hermione. "Grab some dinner and come watch Buffy with us, 'Mione. But hurry, Draco's getting impatient."

"Were you waiting for me?" Hermione asked, confused.

Astoria nodded. "We heard the shower turn off; thin walls."

"Ah. Well. I'm going to go find something to eat; don't worry about waiting for me, though. I'll be up in a bit." She descended the stairs into the kitchen and found a plate prepared for her in the refrigerator. She knew it was hers because of the name written on top of the tinfoil, "Bossy Pants."

She wasn't sure whether to be insulted or pleased.

She microwaved the shepherd's pie and filled a glass with lemonade. When she made her way back to the living room, she found they'd waited for her after all. Astoria and Ron were on one couch, and Neville and Draco were on the other. She was about to sit on the floor when Neville slid off the couch and patted his former seat. "Come on 'Mione, sit down and let's get this thing started." She sat down on the sofa as far from Draco as she could get without it being awkward. She'd been serious when she said he stood a bit too close sometimes, although she was pretty sure it didn't make her uncomfortable in a bad way.

She did her best to pay attention to the show; something about Buffy and a human boyfriend, Riley, who Ron, Neville, and Draco seemed to hate. It was difficult to concentrate though, because she could feel Draco's eyes on her. And then he stretched out on the couch until his leg touched hers, and he just left it there! Like it wasn't strange, their legs touching. She supposed it shouldn't be a big deal, but the warmth that radiated from their connection... yeah, it was distracting. Brutally so.

But she tried, she really did. The show ended, and she knew that if she were to be quizzed on the episode, she'd definitely fail. When they'd turned the telly off, Draco readjusted his position so he was no longer touching her, and she felt cold at the lack of contact.

"Well, 'Mione, I think we may just make a Buffy convert out of you yet," smirked Astoria. "You seemed incredibly interested in the show. Really, quite enthralled."

Hermione glared at her. "Yeah, I guess it was alright."

Ron scoffed. "Please, that Riley bloke, he's rubbish. He's just a boring old Muggle with some fancy government gadgets. She's the Slayer. She deserves better."

Astoria smiled. "Like who? Angel?"

He shrugged. "I dunno, he was a bit of a bore. Always brooding."

"So who then?"

"I don't know Story, but they can do better than Muggley old Riley. She's the Chosen One!"

"Okay Ron. Well maybe you could write Joss Whedon and tell him to find someone new for Buffy. Anyway, we should get going." Astoria flipped her long blonde hair behind her shoulder and looked at Hermione. "Oh, 'Mione, I forgot to tell you. Harry left a message while you were asleep, said he was going to visit Ginny for the weekend, should be home Sunday night."

Hermione smiled. "Ah, that's excellent. Good on him, they haven't had a visit in a while. Where are you two going, then?"

Ron answered. "Mum's invited us to the Burrow for the weekend, says it's been too long since I've visited for more than a day. Uh, you can come too, if you'd like. Always room at the Burrow, you know that."

Hermione looked at Astoria and raised her eyebrow. "No, no, you two go, have a good time." Astoria smiled at her gratefully, and Hermione bit back a laugh. Yeah, she was going to tag along with Ron and Astoria. What a lovely weekend for them all.

Astoria flew up the stairs to grab her bag, and Ron started to follow her until Hermione grabbed his arm. "What we talked about the other night, Ron. You need to tell her how you feel. This weekend, okay? She cares about you, and she deserves to know you're in this for the long haul. Man up."

Ron grimaced and pulled his arm away. "Merlin, you're worse than Mum sometimes."

"Molly is a very wise woman, Ronald. Remember that."

"Yeah, yeah, fine," he muttered and pulled away. "You sure you're going to be okay here with Malfoy for a whole weekend?"

"We've talked about this, Ron," said Hermione.

"I don't mean that you won't be okay; just, you know, if you get bored or whatever, come on over. Mum and Dad always love to see you."

"Mmmhmm," said Hermione cynically. She believed that Ron was trying, but he didn't like Malfoy, and that was that. "I'll be fine, just enjoy the time with your family, okay?"

"Okay."

Within five minutes, Astoria was ready, and she and Ron took the floo to the Burrow. It wasn't all that late, not even ten o'clock yet, and it felt a lot earlier to Hermione. The nap had energized her and she turned to Draco and Neville with a grin. "So, boys, what's the plan for the evening?"

Neville shrugged. "I thought I'd head home, hadn't really planned on hanging out late."

"Oh come on, Nev," Hermione pouted, "it's Friday. Let's pretend to be interesting people and do something."

"Only Draco calls me Nev," he grinned, "but I guess it's catching."

"Please, you call me 'Mione. Turn-around's fair play. So. What's it going to be, gentlemen?"

"We could go out," suggested Neville. "Hit the pub, maybe?"

Draco shook his head. "Sorry, you two, but I've had enough field trips this week. But by all means, don't let me keep you."

"We could stay in and play Exploding Snap," said Neville.

"Oh wow, that sounds rich," said Draco sarcastically. "Seriously, we're not first years anymore."

Neville grinned. "You've obviously never played the drinking version."

"Merlin, I never thought I'd say this, but yeah, let's go for it. Drunken Exploding Snap with Neville Longbottom and Draco Malfoy. I'm in," said Hermione. She wasn't sure if it was the nap, or the weird touching on the couch, or that morning's magic, but she was buzzing with energy. Mixing alcohol, magic, and exploding cards was probably not a great choice; adding in two former classmates (one who seemed keen on flirting with her) probably didn't make it any better, but that didn't stop her. She wanted a night of fun and frivolity, a night where she didn't have to think about her Muggle life versus her magical one. She just wanted to have a good time, that was all. And she was going to let herself do just that.

The game was easy enough; if your wand landed on a card that then exploded, you took a shot of Firewhiskey. There were other rules, of course, but that was the most important one.

Two hours later, Neville could barely sit up straight in his chair. Hermione wasn't sure if Draco was cheating, or if Neville was just plain rubbish at the game, but he was pretty much shit-faced drunk. The second time he almost slid under the table, Draco told him to go home. He stumbled to his feet, and Hermione grabbed him by the waist just in time to keep him from falling. He held up his wand as if to Apparate, but Draco clamped a hand over it in time.

"Uh, no way, Longbottom. You try to Apparate, you'll either land up in Greenland or bloody splinched. You're going home by floo, and you're going to take a multi-vitamin, drink two large glasses of water, and take two painkillers. And if you still feel like death tomorrow, you can only blame yourself, mate. You were terrible at that game."

Neville grinned a slow, sloppy smile, and then mumbled something about leaving the two of them alone. Or at least that's sort of what it sounded like to Hermione. She followed Neville, who was being supported by Draco, up the stairs to the floo. Neville stepped into the floo and started to mumble something, presumably a destination, and then seemed to recall he had to throw the floo powder first.

"Neville!" grouched Draco. "Gods, you get so stupid when you're drunk. Listen; you need to speak slowly and enunciate. Try it now."

Neville slowly named his flat, but once again forgot to throw he powder.

"Okay, good, one more time. Don't throw the powder yet."

Neville once again spoke his destination, and he sounded much more confident this time.

"Alright, go for it, mate," said Draco. Hermione listened closely and was relieved when her fellow Gryffindor said his address perfectly, and managed to throw the powder at the correct time.

"Should we check on him, just to be safe?" asked Hermione.

"Nah, he's been drunker than that before and he's gotten home fine."

"I think any drunker would be considered dead. Or comatose, at least," said Hermione.

"Well, if he gets lost, as least he'll have a good story to tell. I hear Greenland is very... cold this time of year." He grinned deviously.

Hermione rolled her eyes and went back downstairs, followed closely by Draco. She picked up the cards and put them back into their box, and then walked to the sink and started on dishes.

"You don't have to do that," said Draco. "I mean, I've got it."

"Oh shut it, Malfoy. I ate dinner, which you cooked, I assume, so I can help out with dishes."

"Fine. You wash, I'll dry." She nodded and he grabbed a towel and stood next to her, taking each newly cleaned dish and carefully drying it before setting it in a pile. They didn't speak, just washed and dried until everything was clean.

Hermione was just finishing putting away the last of the glasses when she felt Draco's hand on her hip. It wasn't moving; it was just resting there softly. She turned around and faced him, swallowing hard. "What are you doing?"

He looked down at her with a slight frown. "I don't know."

"What's that mean?" she asked.

"Sometimes I just have to touch you," he said. "Can't help it."

She nodded slowly. The touching, it felt good. It was happening more and more. A playful shove, the barest brush of fingers against fingers, a light touch on the arm. And this, this him touching her hip, this hand on her chin, yeah, that felt good too.

He leaned down towards her, stopping just before his lips touched hers, waiting. She wet her lips and made up her mind to take the chance and so she raised her face just a fraction of an inch, but it was enough. The softest brush, a whisper of a kiss. She leaned into it and so did he, and then it was a tangle of lips and hands and hair as they sucked and bit and pressed, fighting for more contact. His tongue swept her lips and she let it in, savoring the new taste. His fingers knotted in her hair as he pulled her closer to him. He wanted to disappear inside her, devour her mouth and her neck and every bit of skin he could see.

And then. "Wait," he said, pulling back. "Is this you, or is this the alcohol?"

She laughed breathlessly. "I had two shots, Draco, and that was over an hour and a half ago. This is definitely me. What about you?"

"Three shots, but I downed mine before yours. Can I touch you now?" She nodded, and he obeyed.

Her leg wrapped around his and she pulled him closer until their bodies were flush, his thigh between hers. The countertop was digging into her hip but she paid it no mind. He must had sensed the discomfort, though, because he picked up her with a sudden movement and set her down on top of the counter, his mouth never leaving hers. She took advantage of the new positioning and she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him in towards her. A groan escaped from somewhere near the back of his throat and she swallowed it greedily, wanting to make him produce more noises. Her mouth moved from his and she kissed along his jawbone until it met his neck, and then she bit down gently. A growl shook his body and then his hands were under her thighs and he was picking her up and moving her to the kitchen table.

"Is sex still off the table?" His breath on her ear made her whimper, and it was enough of an answer.

His hands moved from her waist to her ribs and he held up the edge of her jumper, and looked down at her with the unspoken question. She nodded and arched her back, helping him remove the piece of cloth. When it was gone, he pulled off his shirt and stood back to study her. He'd seen parts of her, yeah, but like this, all that soft, pale skin laid out in front of him... fuck, it was good. It was brilliant, in fact. Her soft cotton bra was feminine but plain, a light blue with a bit of simple lace edging. He ran the back of his hand down her side and across her stomach, remembering the scar that had marred the now-perfect flesh. She watched him touch her, and then she reached for his arm and pulled it close to her. She pressed her lips against the newly-tattooed skin, feeling the slight rise that still remained. She gently ran her tongue along the long feathers that crisscrossed his skin.

"Gods, Hermione," groaned Draco. "I've wanted this..." he started, but she pulled him back down towards her and shut him up with a kiss.

The table was hard against her back but it didn't matter. She arched into every kiss, every caress, and he followed her further up the table until his body covered hers completely. Hermione reached down in between them and cupped him through his jeans. "I think you'd be more comfortable with these off," she whispered in his ear. He sat up on the table and she leaned forward and popped the top button, and slowly dragged the zipper down, freeing him from the tightness of his pants. He rolled to the side and kicked them off hurriedly, and then looked down at her. His eyes flickered down her body, and she smirked and unbuttoned her corduroys, and then released each tooth of the zipper click by click. His eyes grew dark and she felt a thrill of power. It had been a long time since she'd been with a man; hell, she'd only been with Ron, and although it was always good, this felt different. There was something darker at work, something more... primal. The tension was thick and heady, and she reveled in the way Draco was following her every move, his fists clenching at his sides. "Can you give me a hand with these?" she asked, a smirk flitting across her face. He was quick to be of service; so helpful, that one.

When they were both down to their underthings, he reached for her again, smashing his lips to hers. He worked his way down her neck to her clavicle, sucking the blood to the surface at her shoulder. When he'd left a mark he continued down her body, his tongue following the cups of her bra. She raised her upper body off the table and he took her silent cue, reaching behind her to snap open the closure of her bra.

Gods, she was perfect. He gently took a pert nipple into his mouth and laved it slowly, feeling it harden even more. When his hand dipped below the band of her panties, she stopped him. "You should do the spells," she gasped. "Now."

"What spells?" he asked, dazed.

"The contraceptive and sexual health spells. You should do them now, before things get too... complicated."

"Oh." He dropped down from the table and reached for his wand. Pointing at his briefs, he muttered the incantation that all wizards had memorized since fifth year, whether they found the need for it or not.

"And me?" she asked. He stared at her blankly. "My wand is..." she looked down on the ground and visually searched the pile of clothes. Her wand was nowhere in sight. "Somewhere. Can you just do it for me?"

"I... I don't know it," he said stupidly.

She looked at him, confused. "How do you not know it? It's a simple enough spell."

"Yeah, if you have it memorized."

She pulled back and laid out flat on the table, staring at the ceiling. "But you've heard witches say it before. I mean, it's two words and a flick of the wrist. It's easier than a levitation spell. And you're good with spells." She wasn't sure why it bothered her so much, him not knowing the spell. She was perfectly capable of doing it herself. Still, it was strange. Unless.

"You have heard a witch say it before, right?" Maybe it was some pureblood thing. Maybe contraception wasn't polite conversation, or whatever. Maybe they took care of business in private beforehand. It was weird, but so were many traditional pureblood customs that people still followed. Like arranged marriages, and boring society parties.

"Well, no," said Draco. "I mean, not... not in a situation like this. In class, yeah, sure. I mean, everyone had to sit through the talks about pregnancy and all." He shrugged.

"But..." Had to be a weird pureblood thing, then.

"Look, Granger," Draco said, a hand coming up to cover his eyes. "I haven't had to deal with the pregnancy spell on a witch before because... because I've never been with a witch."

"A Muggle?" asked Hermione softly.

"No. No hands-on Muggle experience."

"So, you're a..."

"A virgin," he said, his lips tight. "Is that a problem for you?"

She sat up slowly. "But how is that possible?" She saw his face grow blank and shoulders stiffen. "I mean," she said quickly, "I always thought you and Pansy. You were together, and she was always hanging on you. There were rumors."

He smirked then. "Oh really? I'd bet fifty galleons that Pansy started those herself. We were off and on fifth year and part of six, and it was fun, but it never got that far. I got pretty damn good at foreplay though." That Hermione could agree with. "And then I found her in bed with Zabini middle of sixth year."

"Merlin, seriously?"

He shrugged. "It was never serious, and we were off-again, so it didn't really bother me. Anyway, I was concentrating on how to kill my headmaster, so I was sort of busy. And then that summer I started training with my aunt, so getting laid became less of a priority. You know the rest of the story."

She bit her lip, not knowing what to say. "I just..." she stopped. "I just think that it's a big deal, and that we should probably think about this." She slid off the table and retrieved her clothes, throwing on her sweater without worrying about her bra. "It was probably a bad idea, anyway. I mean, we're friends, and this... well, I think it would ruin it."

He nodded curtly. "Yeah, sure."

She looked at the ground. "Well, uh, I'm going to go upstairs. To bed, I mean."

"Okay."

She turned around and tried not to race up the stairs. Once she was finally in her room (and gods that was a long way up), she laid down in bed, her heart racing. She'd almost slept with Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy, who was a virgin. A fucking hot kisser, however, and he was really, really good at...

No. Stop.

She'd hoped that a good snog would cure her of her attraction. She had been very wrong. It was a lot worse now that she knew what he tasted like, how his hands felt on her skin, how his body draped over hers made her feel small and powerful at the same time.

The first rays of sunshine crept through her windows before she could fall asleep, and in her dreams, she was walking in circles, not knowing in which direction to run.


	55. Deluge

"Oh my gods," moaned Draco. "You're still drunk." Neville had stumbled into the laboratory around ten-thirty, which was about a half hour before Draco had expected to see him. He'd thought his war-hero friend would be sleeping it off for much longer. Judging from Neville's clothes and current blank stare, however, he had yet to fall asleep.

"M'not," said Neville with a pout. "M'fine."

"No, you're still bloody drunk. What happened after you left here last night?"

Neville paused. "I... went home, and took a multi-vitamin, two glasses of water, and some painkillers. And then I called up Hannah and we went dancing."

Draco's eyebrows flew up. "You're back on with Abbott, are you?"

"Dunno," shrugged Neville. "But we are brilliant dancers, I'll tell you that. And not just the pervy kind either; we can do it all: waltz, foxtrot, mumblebo."

"Mambo?"

"Yeah, that one. I mean, the music didn't match up, but we mumblebo'd sooo well," he said, his voice wistful. "I think I want her back."

"Well good luck with that mate, but we've got work to do, and you need to sober up." He walked over to the cabinet and found a lime green bottle. "Okay, bottom's up. And if you throw this up, I swear to gods, Longbottom, I will tell Abbott you've got dragon crabs."

"But that's not true! You wouldn't." Neville looked scared.

"Guess you'll have to try to keep the puking to a minimum."

"You throw up one time in a bloke's shoe and he gets all grouchy," mumbled Neville.

A quick gulp and Neville placed the bottle on the table, grimacing. "Ugh, that's foul." A few seconds later he blinked rapidly and stood up straighter. Draco examined his eyes, which were once again sharp with reason and sobriety.

"Better," Draco drawled.

Neville walked around the room, and then saw the far table crowded with bottles of potion. "Blimey, did you and Hermione do all of this yesterday?" Draco nodded in confirmation. "That must have taken hours!"

"It was faster once Granger decided to use a wand."

"No kidding?"

Draco shrugged. "I think she's getting over the fear part. Finally."

"Good, that's good. So what happened after I left?"

"Hmm?"

"What did you do? It wasn't that late, and you're looking a bit knackered, so I'm guessing you didn't go straight to bed. Unless..." He gave Draco a suggestive look.

"No, nothing happened."

"Really."

"Really. What's with the third degree?"

"Come on, I know something's going on between you two. It's obvious to everyone! There's all this tension in the air. Will they, won't they... you're like a bloody soap operator!"

"Soap opera."

"Sure. But seriously, nothing happened?"

Draco sighed. "Something could have happened, but it didn't. I mean, it sort of started to, but then stopped."

"Ohhhh that's bad luck, mate. Did you have..." Neville looked down at his pants, "a problem?"

"No!" said Draco with a growl. "There was NO problem on my end. Except that I'm apparently not experienced enough for her."

"Honestly? And she bailed? I wouldn't have expected that from Hermione. I mean, she doesn't seem like the sort that would be judgmental about something like that."

Draco shrugged. "Yeah, well. That's what happened."

"Gods, that is rough."

"Hmm."

"Okay. So we work on the potions, and then I'm taking you out for a pint."

"You just got sober!"

"Exactly. I'm back at square one! Come on, it's Saturday. It's not like we have any place to be."

"Except in the lab, perfecting these potions that we have to test in three days."

"Yeah, except. But pssh, we've got time. Okay, one more hour, and then we split, agreed?"

"Sure, whatever," Draco waved him off.

They worked for a little over an hour (Draco insisted they finish their current batch before skiving off) and then went out for a pint. One pint quickly became two.

Draco was beginning to think Neville had a drinking problem. Okay, not really, but the Gryffindor did like to go out. Neville was very different from the boy he'd been in school, and Draco wondered how much of the change was due to his experiences in the war, and how much was due to the fact that he no longer had to prove himself to be a real wizard. Everyone recognized him, the War Hero. Shit, Draco was sort of a war hero. Yeah, he'd been on the wrong side, and sure, maybe he'd technically tortured a few Muggles, but who hadn't?

Okay, it was bad reasoning.

Still. Neville was the war-hero and Draco was the big bad. He looked around the bar, but no one seemed to be watching them. He still worried that someone would come up and cause trouble. People had been surprisingly blasé about his sudden reappearance in society, but the Daily Prophet still posted pictures of him looking angry instead of smiling. The pictures had been taken just days before when he and Hermione had gone to Diagon Alley. He remembered why he'd been so angry; his chocolate frog was missing a collectible card, and he'd been put out because of it. And so that's how he was portrayed: the angry (formerly) Dark wizard, and the unwritten subtext read "possibly dangerous." No matter that he gave the Ministry the names of all of the Death Eaters, not to mention revealing connections between Voldemort and powerful wizarding families. It was not fair, but that was how it went.

And that was where his mind was all night, flitting between the past and the future. The past, where things were better left buried, and the future, where he'd hopefully help pay his debt to society by curing lycanthropy.

Or at least that was the plan.

And then there was Hermione, and he had no idea what to do about the bloody witch. The witch who was not a witch. Or the witch that didn't act like a witch, which bothered him. Sometimes.

Or something.

"Nev, this is hitting me pretty hard," said Draco. It was only his second pint, and he was only halfway through. It didn't make sense.

"Ha ha, yeah, it should, mate. The waitress sort of knows me, and she gave us the special glasses." He winked.

"What special glasses?"

Neville lifted his pint in a toast. "They refill themselves. Wicked, right?"

"Oh my gods," groaned Draco. "I'm bloody sloshed and it's not even five o'clock." He looked at his watch. 4:48 PM. "Well, we're close enough." He took another drink.

It was just past seven by the time they left the bar; neither man felt sober enough to Apparate, and the waitress at the bar had been kind enough to call them a Muggle cab. The pub was different from any that Draco had ever been in; it was owned by a wizard and had not only a magical staff running the joint, but it had crazy (and amazing) things like self-refilling glasses. However, the establishment wasn't in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, and an occasional Muggle walked in. There were proper enchantments in place to hide the magic (and muffle sensitive conversations) from any Muggles, but it was still strange just knowing that one could stop in at any time.

The cab dropped Draco off at Grimmauld; Neville offered to come in and keep him company, but he shrugged his friend off. "No, no, I've got it. I'm going to do what you said, mate. I'm going to confront her, and tell her what I think, and see what happens."

"Yeah! Good on you!" Neville hollered from the back seat of the taxi.

"Yeah!" said Draco, although his enthusiasm was waning now that he was home. He walked into the house and went straight to his room. Just because he was a tiny bit shit-faced didn't mean he needed to smell like a distillery. He grabbed some clothes and hit the shower. When he was done, he went back to his room to go over his speech once more. He laid down on the bed, trying to clear his mind of everything but what he wanted to say.

And he woke up three hours later.

The house was dark and quiet. His head hurt, but that was understandable, given the amount of alcohol he'd consumed. He stood up slowly, and felt the room slide underneath him. Steadying himself on his dresser, he remembered what he'd had planned before he'd passed out.

Granger. Was she there?

He made his way up the stairs, quietly counting the steps aloud, holding onto the railing all the way. When he was up on the attic landing, he knocked on the door three times. There was no answer, but he could hear the squeak of the bed.

"Granger, I know you're in there. Open the door."

He heard a rustling and then padded footsteps towards the door.

"Open up, Granger." Nothing. "I know you're there! Open the bloody door." Nope. Maybe politeness would work. "Please. And thank you."

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

He pressed his forehead to the worn wood. "We should talk."

"I don't know that we should. And anyway, I was sleeping."

"First of all, no, you weren't. And second of all, you're wrong."

"Unlikely."

"Look, Granger, I know it's a strange concept for you, but you don't always know what's best. The sooner we talk the sooner you can come out of that room and eat some real food, and I dunno, bathe or something."

He heard her hand start to turn the knob, but the door remained shut. "I came out earlier. When you were gone."

"Ah, well. Guess you're stuck in there for the night, then."

She laughed softly. It was a good sign. "You have to go to bed sometime."

Ah, yes, bed. That's exactly what he wanted to talk about. Or at least it was in the neighborhood. "Come on, Hermione, let's get it all out on the table," gods, there was that damn table again, always making life complicated, "and move on, yeah?"

The door knob twisted and Hermione appeared. She was chewing on the tip of her left hand thumb, although she didn't seem aware of it. "Come in, then," she said begrudgingly. Draco complied and walked straight to her bed and sat down. "Make yourself at home," she muttered, and stood watching him.

"So, about last night," he started, and then frowned, reaching beneath him. He pulled out a large book on potions and raised an eyebrow, but stayed silent. Interesting. "Neville thinks we should just talk about it, get it out there. I mean, I think. Me. Yeah."

"Godric!" Hermione groaned. "You talked to Neville about us?"

"Us?" asked Draco with a grin. That was curious.

Hermione blushed. "Not like _us_ us. You know, just, like, what happened. Last night." She turned around to face the far wall. "I cannot believe you're making me discuss this, and after talking to Neville of all people."

"Hey, he's my mate, and anyway, he's more... experienced. I thought you'd approve, since you obviously feel so strongly about it. Experience, I mean."

She whirled around. "What exactly do you mean by that? And what's with the snotty tone?" She stepped closer. "Wait... are you drunk?"

"Not anymore, mummy, don't you worry. I'm mostly sober, at any rate. And I do not have a snotty tone!"

"Oh yes you do. You come in here acting like you're so mature, like you're going to make me talk about what was one of the most singularly awkward moments..." she trailed off and looked at her nails.

"I'm sorry I made it so terrible," he said, and he knew his voice hadn't gotten any more pleasant.

"Look, it's not like it's your fault or anything. I just... I don't want to take that from you."

"My virginity?" he asked, incredulous. "It's not something I'm keen on keeping forever, you know. You wouldn't have been stealing it."

"But it should be more than that," she argued. "Your first time should be more than a sloppy shag on the kitchen table. It wouldn't have been right, no matter how you felt in the moment. Because you only get one first time, Draco, and it should mean more."

Draco frowned, unsure of what she was insinuating. "So if it wasn't on the kitchen table, it would have been okay? Merlin, Hermione, if location was the issue... you need to tell a bloke that. It's a problem that can be easily remedied."

"No, it's not location, you dolt! I mean, yes, a bed would be preferable, but it's the whole circumstance. It should mean something." She was doing that thing again, that thing where she didn't make eye contact. He hated that thing.

"I don't know what you're getting at," he said, his voice rising. "'It should be more... what? More premeditated? More..." he grimaced, "romantic? Because the whole flowers and moonlight thing, I think that's more for the girl than the guy. At least, it's not something I need." He looked down at his pants. Obviously. Just talking about fooling around was getting him aroused. No flowers or moonlight necessary.

"Well, yeah, it's never a bad idea to have a plan. But that's not what I meant. Your first time, it only happens once."

"So you said."

"And it only happens with one person, Draco."

"That's debatable, depending on the willingness of the participants." He smirked, and she sighed, but he saw a smile tugging at the edge of her lip.

"It should be with someone that you truly care about. That's what I mean. It's an experience you will always remember, and it shouldn't be a random shag because there's chemistry and you've had a bit to drink and you're horny. It should be a culmination of desire and need and attraction and appreciation."

He stood up and began to pace the length of the small room. His head still felt a little spinny, but he was thinking clearly now. "Okay, so according to the Hermione Granger handbook, sex, or at least, the first time, should only take place in a bed, presumably the bed of one of the people involved in the act." He looked at her for verification, and she nodded. "And you should care about the person, as more than a friend? I mean, you should think they're smart, and attractive, and funny in a weird way, and you should want to shag their brains out, even if they're just standing there being a pain-in-the-ass know-it-all, correct?" She just stared, so he continued. "And it should mean something. It should be a culmination of desire and need and all of that; it should be something you think about day and night, even when you try not to, even when you don't want to want that person. But it's there, no matter what you do. That's what it should be like? That's what it should mean?"

She bit her bottom lip and stared at the floor. "Yeah, something like that."

"So I guess it was a location issue," said Draco, and Hermione's eyes flew up to meet his. The shock in them was evident. "But I think it should be the same for the other person," he went on, "at least when it's someone's first time. I would want to be with someone because they want to be with me. For more than just a shag, at least. It wouldn't have to be... whatever. It wouldn't have to be a promise, or a start to something more, but it would have to mean that they cared, at least a little bit. That there was a possibility of more."

She remained silent, but to her credit, she didn't look away.

He cleared his throat. "If things change... I mean, if that's ever the case." Gods, this was embarrassing, so much more so than the entire previous conversation. He felt like he was on display, all his faults and shortcomings and vulnerable spots left open. "Well, you know where I sleep." He turned to walk away, but stopped at the doorway. "Tomorrow morning, I'm going to pretend that none of this happened. We'll go back to how it was, okay? There will be no pressure, or awkwardness, or hurt feelings. We live in the same house, and I don't want things to get messy. But I do need some help in the lab, and everyone else is gone until tomorrow night. So if you wouldn't mind..."

"I'll be there," Hermione said.

"Okay. Goodnight, Granger."

"Goodnight, Malfoy."

The door shut, and Hermione flung herself onto her bed, pulling her pillow to her face as she released a muffled scream. She'd expected him to be pissed, or bitter, or just embarrassed. This was so much harder to deal with; had he seriously said those things? To her? It wasn't that she wasn't flattered; he was fit, and smart, and all of the things that most girls wanted, sure. And even though she still sometimes looked in the mirror and felt somewhat ashamed of herself, she'd been healing, both physically and emotionally, since coming to Grimmauld. But she hadn't expected him to care. It filled her with unease, and made her asks herself questions she wasn't prepared to deal with quite yet. Not tonight, at least. Not right now.

She grabbed the discarded book at the foot of her bed and opened it once more. It was a potions book, and although she wasn't ready to jump back into magic, she had decided a little bit of studying wouldn't hurt. In fact, it might even help in the lab. She remembered most of what she read, but it was good to brush up on ingredients and methodologies. And when her brain went offtrack and started thinking of a certain Slytherin sitting just floors below her in the otherwise empty house, she began to read ingredient descriptions out loud.

"Foxglove. A highly toxic herbaceous plant. Used primarily in pumpkin-head potion, this flowering plant can be found in Europe, Asia, and Africa. Flowers range in color from various purple tints to various shades of light gray..."


	56. Diaphanous

He said that everything would go back to normal.

She didn't understand how that was possible. Still, she was willing to pretend if he was.

Probably.

Still, she was unsure what would await her in the laboratory that morning. Would it be tense? Would he ignore her, or go back to picking on her? Would they still be friends? She really wanted that to stay the same. She wasn't sure if it was possible, but she wanted to be friends. She still cared about him, just not in the way he wanted.

Right?

She expected to find him there, and she did. But she didn't expect the radio to be on, and she didn't expect him to be softly singing along as he measured out potion ingredients. And she DEFINITELY didn't expect the natural-looking smile that graced his face when he greeted her. It was a good smile, a happy smile. It was real.

"Hey, I was wondering if you were going to ignore me all day and just stay holed up in the attic." He smirked slightly.

"Why would I do that?" Everything would go back to the way it was, right? He'd pretend like nothing ever happened.

"Dunno, just wondered." Ah, so he was trying to ignore the past two days. Well, she could do that too.

"What are we working on today?" she asked.

"More of the same. I want to make another batch of the base potion, about the same amount as we made last time. But I thought we could work on the halitosis potion too, change things up a bit."

"Isn't the werewolf potion a bit more important than curing bad breath?"

He shrugged. "I guess that depends on who you ask. There's quite a lot of horny teenagers that would argue that with you, I'm sure. And anyway, we've got what we need for the trial this week, so it makes no sense to make more experimental potions until we see if any of these work. Even if they slow the change, we'll know we're on the right track. Until then, however, we can keep trying to make the world safe for snogging schoolkids everywhere."

"How very altruistic. What if it works?"

"Well, people will buy less breath mints, I suppose."

She shook her head. "No, I mean the lycanthropy potion. What if it works?"

"It'll be one of the biggest breakthroughs of the last decade, as far as potions are concerned."

"Yeah," Hermione said excitedly, "it will; that would be brilliant! And to think that you and Neville were to thank. Gods, I hope one of these work," she said, eying the various potions.

"That would be brilliant," agreed Draco, "and we'd be heroes! Very, very rich heroes."

"You'd charge for the potion?" asked Hermione with a scowl. "I don't exactly think you need the money."

"Well maybe Neville does. And anyway, that's business."

She sighed. "But it shouldn't be; it should be free, or at least very inexpensive. People should be able to afford it; it shouldn't be a luxury for the rich."

"Did I say that I'd charge a ludicrous price? No, I just want to make up for the time spent creating it, and the price of the ingredients. With an extra ten or so galleons for profit."

"TEN GALLEONS? For something these people will need every single month? That's an awful lot of money, Draco."

"You misunderstood me. Ten galleons on top of the ingredients and research and development money. It would be more like 15, maybe twenty galleons."

Hermione was shocked into silence. There was no way most people could afford that. "But... but... that's insane! I mean, if you hadn't gotten your parents' money, would you be able to afford that every month?"

"No," he said simply. "But I don't think it's wrong to expect proper payment for services rendered."

"Five galleons," Hermione said, "total. That's more than enough to cover your time and supplies."

"Oh, you've got to be joking. That's nothing!"

"That's more than many families can afford, Draco!" She had been slowly moving closer to him without realizing it, and her hand itched to give him a good smack on the head. She was definitely within hitting distance now.

She lifted her hand subtly, but he saw and grabbed her wrist. "Now Granger, don't do anything foolish. I'm bigger and stronger than you, and I can do magic."

"So can I!"

He scoffed. "Barely."

She pulled on her arm but he held it tight. "Don't make me demonstrate my powers by turning you into the amazing bouncing ferret again."

He held up his hands in defeat. "Fine. Seven galleons."

"Three," she shot back.

"Listen, Granger, when you create your own world-changing potion, you can set the price. Until then, it'll be seven galleons, take it or leave it. It can easily go back up to twenty."

She hemmed and hawed for a moment, but she knew she'd lost. "Fine. Seven galleons."

He grinned, triumphant. "You know, if you'd pushed just a little bit more, I'd have gone down to five."

"Arse," she muttered, and set about gathering her ingredients.

* * *

They'd spent the majority of the morning and afternoon in the lab. It wasn't awkward, but it wasn't easy. Hermione kept thinking of the events from the previous days, and she found her cheeks warming at the recollections. Draco seemed fine, though, which bothered her even more.

She was happy to see Harry, Ron, and Astoria, who had all arrived within minutes of one another, but she was feeling emotionally drained. She made her way up to her bedroom early; it was barely nine, but she felt ready to escape. After a long shower she settled down with the potion book. She was halfway through the seventh chapter when she heard a knock at the door.

"Come in."

Astoria peered in from the doorway and smiled when she saw Hermione reading. "Am I bothering you?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, just some light reading. Thought I'd brush up on my potions, since I've been helping out in the lab. But I wouldn't mind a little distraction, and you know you're never a bother, Story."

"Good. Even if I was, you're not getting rid of me. I need to talk to a woman that's not Molly."

"I'm a woman and not Molly Weasley, so I qualify on both accounts," said Hermione with a grin. She patted a spot on the bed. "Come on. Spill it."

Astoria sat down and pulled a throw pillow into her lap, holding it tightly. "It's about Ron. This is okay, right? Me talking to you about this?"

"Gods," groaned Hermione, "for the millionth time, yes."

"Good. Because I seriously need to talk to you. I'm not sure..." she trailed off, hesitant.

"Get on with it!"

"Okay," said Astoria, smoothing her hair. "So Ron and I were on a walk yesterday evening, just meandering out in the far fields. We weren't talking all that much, and Ron seemed... weird. Like a little preoccupied, and almost nauseated, like he gets after a really big meal." Hermione smiled; yeah, she recognized that mood. "But we hadn't even eaten dinner yet," she continued, "which was strange. Anyway, we get to that tree at the very edge of their property, the big willow. You know that one?" Hermione nodded. "So we get out there and Ron pulls a small bag from his pocket and apparently he'd packed a picnic! A whole picnic, just for us! I mean, I'm sure Molly was the one who cooked most of it, but still. He'd shrunk it down so it'd be a surprise. That's not at all like him, of course, so obviously I started to worry. But he told me to be quiet and keep calm, and then he started talking about the things he likes about me, and how his family loves me, and how he didn't expect to care about me the way that he does."

"Wow," said Hermione with a smile. So apparently Ron had taken her advice. She did her best to look surprised at his confession, but she really wanted to pat herself on the back. "Story, that's amazing!"

Astoria nodded. "Yeah, it was. I mean, we've been... something for about five months now, and there was a bit of flirtation and a rocky friendship before that... but this was the first time he really made his true feelings known. I mean, we're together, but he doesn't even call me his girlfriend." She blushed.

"Well I've called you his girlfriend, and he hasn't corrected me," said Hermione. A smile played on Astoria's lips, and Hermione knew she'd said the right thing.

"Well he's not calling me that now," said Astoria.

Hermione's eyes widened. "Oh Merlin, what happened?"

"Well," the blonde girl said slowly, "first he told me... that he loves me." She looked down at her hands. "And then he asked me if I'd consider marrying him."

"WHAT?"

Astoria looked up nervously. "Yeah. Not anytime soon, but in the future."

"And you said?"

She hesitated and played with a long blonde lock. "I said yes."

Hermione leaped across the bed and tackled Astoria. "Oh my gods, Story, you're ENGAGED?" She hugged her friendly tightly until the blonde girl was gasping for air. "I canNOT believe it! This is awesome! And insane. Wait, I get to be a bridesmaid, right?"

Astoria smiled widely, and her eyes were shiny. "You're good with this?"

"Of course I am!" She hit the Slytherin with a pillow. "I'm the one who told Ron he needed to get his shit together and tell you how he feels."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. Now about the bridesmaid thing."

Astoria smirked. "You can be my maid of honor if you let me pick out your dress and do your makeup. And your hair," she added quickly.

"Fine," groaned Hermione. "So do you have an idea of when you want to get married?"

"Not sure," shrugged Astoria. "It just happened yesterday. We went back to the house afterward and told everyone, Molly and Arthur and George and Luna, even Bill and Fleur were there. There was a ton of food, on top of the picnic, and lots of champagne and firewhiskey. I still have a headache," she complained. "But I don't want to rush too fast. We've only been dating a short time, so this all still seems a little crazy to me. I mean, I'm only eighteen."

"True, but you're pureblood, and so is Ron. It's not that unusual to marry young."

"Yeah." Astoria looked at the ground. "I guess I also want to try to work things out with my family. I mean," she said, her voice cracking, "I always thought Father would walk me down the aisle. I know Draco would do it in a heartbeat, but I still think if we wait a little bit, it'll give us a better chance to reunite. I just can't imagine them not being there."

"I know, Story. I hope they come around." She hugged her friend once more. "But if they do, I still call maid of honor."

Astoria laughed. "Agreed. Now you should come downstairs and congratulate Ron. I think he's a bit worried about your reaction as well."

Hermione groaned. "Gods, it's been years, he needs to get over himself," she joked. "I've moved on."

"Speaking of moving on... anything interesting happen this weekend?" Hermione turned bright red and Astoria squealed. "Oh, I knew it! Tell me everything!"

"Nothing to tell, at least not now. Come on, let's go downstairs and formally congratulate the happy couple. Wait, does Harry know? Or Draco?"

Astoria shook her head. "No, I wanted to tell you first." She reached in her pocket and pulled out a ring; it was delicate and yellow-gold, the stone a beautiful red ruby. She slipped it on her finger and smiled. "It's been in his family for years, I guess." Hermione's grin widened at the Gryffindor colors. Draco was going to flip his shit.

"Oh, I've GOT to see this," Hermione said, and jumped from the bed, grabbing Astoria's hand and racing out the door.

* * *

Draco had taken it better than anyone could have expected. Sure, he still growled something about damned Weasels infiltrating his family, and Hermione was pretty sure she heard the word tosser thrown around a few times, but he still hugged Astoria and told her he wanted her to be happy. Hermione was actually proud of his restraint.

It was Monday, and she was once alone again in the house with Draco. They'd done a small amount of work in the lab that morning, but were done by lunchtime. He still hadn't alluded to their previous dalliance, yet Hermione couldn't help but feel the memories permeating her every moment. She'd even begun to allow herself to work through her feelings toward the Slytherin, if only slightly. She liked him as more than a friend. At least, she was pretty sure that she did. Probably. They had chemistry, that much was obvious, but it was more than that, she decided, and then promptly forced herself to think of something else.

The day had been largely uneventful. After working in the lab, she'd taken a book outside to enjoy the warm spring weather. She'd put on shorts and a tank top with the hopes of soaking up a bit of the early evening sun. She'd done more magic that morning while working on the potions, so she was feeling good. It had been just over an hour since she'd stepped outside when she saw Astoria's blonde hair peak out of the back door.

"Hey, stranger," Astoria called as she padded barefoot across the small backyard.

Hermione raised her glass of iced tea in greeting and motioned Astoria to sit down. "Gods, this weather is amazing."

"I know," said Astoria as she magically shortened the skirt of her uniform. She'd taken off her blouse and was wearing a white tank underneath. She laid out next to Hermione and sighed with contentment. "Only two more weeks of class and I'm done. Merlin, I cannot wait."

Hermione frowned. "But end-of-term is the third week of June."

"True, but if you don't live at the castle, you're pretty much done once your exams are over."

"Hmm, I suppose. But you're going to the end-of-term feast, right?"

Astoria shrugged. "Probably. We'll see. It's not like I have a lot of friends to say goodbye to, and I'm not really concerned whether or not Slytherin wins the House Cup. So if there's more interesting things happening here, say, doing my laundry or cleaning the kitchen, I'll probably skip."

Hermione laughed. She would have never missed the last feast of the year, but she supposed her school experience was different than Astoria's.

"So tell me what happened between you and Draco, 'Mione. I'm dying here."

Hermione rolled over onto her stomach and buried her face in her arms. "I feel awkward even saying it. Especially to your face."

"So don't look at me," reasoned Astoria.

"Fine," said Hermione, who then recounted the past week's experiences. She told her friend in detail about Diagon Alley, about working in the lab, and about Drunken Exploding Snap.

"Damn, how did I miss all of this?" asked Astoria.

"There's more," groaned Hermione, who then spilled her guts about the night she almost slept with Draco Malfoy. She then recounted Draco's reaction and confession.

"Shit," breathed Astoria. "I seriously cannot believe I missed that. Well, I'm glad I missed the mostly-naked dry-humping part, because that would be bloody awkward, but you know what I mean. What are you going to do?"

"What do you mean?" asked Hermione.

"Well, he pretty much asked you to figure out how you feel about him, didn't he? He left the door open, at least."

"Ugh! I don't know how I feel, and I don't want to deal with this right now."

"Why's that, 'Mione?"

"Because. Things between us... they wouldn't be easy. I'm still messed up, and he's barely left the house in gods know how long... neither of us are exactly healthy, stable people."

Astoria bit her lip. "I think you don't give yourself enough credit. Or Draco, for that matter. You two, you're good together. In fact, I'd wager that you're better together than apart. But if you're not ready... then it's a good thing to back off. I love you, Bookworm, you know that I do, but Draco's my brother. And if you aren't ready to admit your feelings for him, feelings that I know you have, then maybe this should be the end. I don't want him hurt." She picked at the grass at her feet and rolled it between her fingers. "But if you can get past your fear, I really do think you could be great together." She stood up and brushed off her skirt. "That's all I'm going to say about it for now. You need to figure this one out of your own, I think. Come on," she said, reaching down to grab the Gryffindor's hand, "dinner should be ready. Let's go inside. Draco made pulled pork and it smells ridiculously delicious."

* * *

Hermione's eyes flew open and she yanked on her pillow in frustration. It was past midnight; she'd gone to bed hours ago but she couldn't manage to stay asleep. She'd drift off for a few minutes, a half hour at the most, and then wake up again. She growled her frustration; tomorrow was the full moon, and although she could take a nap during the day, she'd be up all night helping out Neville and Draco with their experiment. She'd volunteered to take notes on all the werewolves, and she needed her rest. She'd considered taking a sleep potion, but wasn't willing to go all the way to the basement to get it. Her bones felt heavy and her body was begging for sleep, but real rest wouldn't come. She stared listlessly at her blinds, and then realized it was far too light outside for the middle of the night. She stood up and threw a sweatshirt over her pajamas. Quietly she opened the door to the roof and stepped outside.

It was mostly dark, but the light she had seen inside her bedroom was coming from the far side of the roof. Her view was blocked by rows upon rows of plants, some that were really closer to trees. She made her way toward the light, her wand held up high in front of her. She saw the shock of blonde hair and lowered it. "Malfoy, what on earth are you doing out here? Do you know how late it is?"

He turned to look at her, not at all surprised to see her. He must have heard her coming. "I'm working, Granger," he said, pointing to the plant in front of him. "And yes, I know how late it is. But some of these plants are very delicate, and need to be tended to only at night, when the ultraviolet rays can't hurt them. What's your excuse for being out at this time of night?"

"I saw the light. Wait, how did you get out here?" She knew for a fact that the only access to the roof was through her room.

"Harry's cloak and a silencing charm," he said with a shrug. "Probably didn't even need them, you're a pretty sound sleeper."

"What? You were in my bedroom at night, skulking about?" Her eyes flashed and she seriously considered hexing him. He deserved it, for invading her privacy like that.

He laughed loudly, the sound ringing throughout the cool night air. "Salazar, you are such a Hufflepuff sometimes! No, I did not sneak into your room at night. I wouldn't do that... unless you asked me to," he said with a smirk. "I Apparated, you daft witch. What do you think?"

"Oh. Well. That makes sense." She gave a fake yawn. "I'm not gullible, just sleepy."

"Mmmhmm, sure," he said knowingly.

"And anyway, I'm not sure if I should be offended for myself or for the Hufflepuffs. You and Story rag on them like crazy."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course we do; they deserve every bit of it."

"That's simply not true, Malfoy! Hufflepuffs are no better or worse than the rest of us."

"Sure. Name me one Hufflepuff that's made a name for himself."

"Or herself," Hermione shot back. "What about Cedric Diggory?"

"Seriously? He died. That's the only reason people outside of Hogwarts know that name. If that was the sole reason for popularity, we'd know the name of each and every person that died in the war. Bzzzz. Next."

"There's Professor Sprout."

"She was an alright professor, but that's not that big of a deal."

"She fought in the war," pointed out Hermione. "She was a member of the Order."

"Okay, I'll give you that one. Give me three more."

"There's your cousin, Tonks."

Draco scoffed. "Please, from what I've heard, she was more Gryffindor than Hufflepuff, anyway."

"Still counts."

"Fine. Two more. And I'm not just asking about Hufflepuffs you know, I'm talking about witches and wizards that made a real impact on our world."

"There's... hang on."

Draco smirked.

"Well, there's... and then..."

He waited patiently until she gave up. "Fine, there's not a lot of well-known Hufflepuffs."

"Exactly, Granger. They're filler. They're what's left when Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor have taken the rest."

Hermione bit back a smile. "But they're good finders."

Draco roared in approval. "Gods, Granger, that's brilliant. Sure, they're good finders. The golden retrievers of the wizarding world." He walked over to another plant and felt the soil, then jotted something down in his notebook. Hermione followed him, noticing the different varieties of plants. She'd been out here once, but only for a few minutes, and she hadn't really taken the time to look around. She wondered why that was; it was lovely. There were many plants she didn't recognize, and she'd point them out to Draco who'd name them for her. Many of them seemed to be species Neville had read about and ordered, which made sense as to why she didn't recognize them. Neville's knowledge of herbology far outweighed her interest in the subject.

They stopped at a large lattice brimming with vines and white flowers. The scent was amazing. "What's this?" she asked, stepping closer to gently touch a flower. She buried her nose it in and breathed deeply. "It smells glorious."

"That," said Draco, "is a variant of moonflower."

"It's beautiful."

"It is," he agreed. "It's called a moonflower because it only blooms at night. Most varieties open around early evening, but this kind here is photophobic. The sun nurtures the plant, but it needs both the light and the dark to survive. It only opens when the sun is completely hidden, usually close to eleven p.m. this time of year." He watched her closely out of the corner of his eye. "Many people will miss its bloom completely because they're asleep. But for those who are unafraid of the night, who are willing to wait... well, they get to truly appreciate its beauty. It's not a typical flower; you wouldn't put it in a bouquet or plant it in most gardens. You see, if given free range, instead of a trellis, it will spread everywhere, choking out other plants, even. But when it's given safe parameters, it grows tall and strong. Its petals are delicate but powerful when used as a healing aid. Its seeds can be toxic if not handled correctly. But that scent... it's intoxicating in a completely different way." He turned to her and smiled. "I sometimes come out here at night just to look at it. It's beautiful, with all its contradictions." He stepped closer to her. "It's my favorite flower in any garden."

She swallowed and took a half step back. "Thank you for showing it to me. It's lovely." He nodded his agreement. "I should probably get to sleep. Do you need me in the lab tomorrow morning?"

"No, I plan on sleeping in as late as I can tomorrow. I'd suggest you do the same, given our schedule."

She nodded. "Alright then. Goodnight, Draco."

"Goodnight, Hermione."

She found her way back to the door to her room and closed it behind her.


	57. Dare

Hermione padded back to bed and wrapped the covers around and under her like a cocoon. She closed her eyes and tried to will her body to fall asleep.

It worked for about three hours.

When she woke again, it was close to four in the morning. No one was up but her, not even the few somewhat-less-unfriendly portraits that still lined the hallway outside her room. She gathered her robe around her and ran back into her bedroom for a pair of slippers. She quietly made her way down the stairs, thinking a cup of tea might help her sleep. Something decaffeinated, of course, with lots of warm milk. Yeah, that should work.

She stirred a generous helping of milk into her decaf Earl Grey and added a teaspoon of sugar, hoping the sweetness wouldn't keep her from sleep. As she sipped the drink, she thought back to the conversation on the rooftop. Draco wasn't always as subtle as he may think; she saw the way he was looking at her when he spoke of the plant's contradictions. Dangerous at times but healing and beautiful at others. Sure.

She knew what he was trying to say. Yeah, he liked her, she understood that. But the stuff about the trellis, about giving the plant a framework to live within, so it didn't spread out over the garden and choke other plants. He was alluding to her magic, of course. She knew that the moment he said it. If she was to do magic, if she was to embrace her gift fully, it might be wise to consider a framework within which to practice. A set of rules, perhaps, or a code to live by. It was a good idea, actually. She could write out her fears, maybe, make a list of pros and cons... she did like to make lists.

She'd obviously never look into Dark magic again. It was too powerful, too alluring. And she'd never practice blood magic again, no matter the reasoning. The ancient powers it evoked scared her, even though they had saved her. But maybe it was time to move beyond the simple first-year spells she had been practicing. She need a plan, however, a real plan, before she started on anything more serious than an illumination or cutting spell.

Yes, the plant talk had been interesting. Draco has spoken honestly about the flower, but the words... there was a sort of passion behind them that unnerved her. Intoxicating... beautiful in its contradictions. His favorite plant in any garden.

The words, even when not directed completely at her, affected her. It was not unlike the warmth that had started in stomach when he had healed her of her scar. It was a feeling that started deep within her and had spread throughout muscle and bone and skin and synapse.

It was all together unsettling. But not... bad.

Still, taken at face value, it was certainly an interesting plant. Nurtured by the sun but truly woken by the moon at its apex. Dangerous, even deadly at times, but useful and healing at others. Cursed to never show its beauty during the day, but only to appear in its true form at night.

It reminded her of...

She raced into the lab and grabbed a few bottles of the base potion. She flitted about the lab, finding a quill and a piece of parchment. Moonflower. Gods, even the name... it had the power of the sun and the moon, the power of toxicity and health. It could be the key. Maybe. Possibly. It was worth trying, definitely.

Merlin, should she wake Malfoy? He would want to know. He'd have ideas, really good ideas as to how to use the moonflower perfectly. She was a little thrilled he hadn't thought of using it, in fact. Blah, blah, petals for healing, but he wasn't seeing the plant as a whole. It was more than the toxic seed or the beneficial petal or the innocuous leaf or even the spreading vine. It was an organism that could be somewhat tamed in captivity but that thrived in the wild; a plant that held life and death. It was beautiful, completely bloody magical.

No, she wouldn't wake Draco. She thought back to earlier conversations in the lab and smirked. No, she'd do this on her own.

She cast a simple silencing charm and padded up the stairs to the attic. She considered Apparating for exactly 0.35 seconds, but decided against it. She'd try soon enough, she thought, but she really did need to figure out the rules. They would be self-imposed, but they were important, and she was unwilling to try anything tricky until every regulation was set. From now on, she didn't hurt people with her magic, no matter the stakes.

Once on the roof, she cut off a large section of the moonflower plant. Vine, leaves, petals, everything. She took an extra section just in case and raced back to her room. She grabbed the large potion book she'd been reading and flew down the stairs. She had some more reading to do, especially the methodology chapters. She looked at clock on the wall and noted the time. Draco would be up within four hours, most likely; he said he wanted to sleep in, but he wasn't one for lying in past nine. She had enough time, but she couldn't waste a minute.

It was 8:57 am when she finally stoppered the last bottle. She'd used twelve base potions for her experiment, and ten of those had turned out to be dangerous according to the spell that Draco had shown her. Maybe not lethal, but bad.

The last two had been her best bets. She made three portions of each of them and carefully labeled them, and then tucked them behind the potions already lining the experiment table. They might not have enough volunteers to test her potions tonight, but next month, she'd be first in line.

She grinned and grabbed her wand, whispering "Nox" as she left the room.

* * *

It was past two in the afternoon when she woke up. She sat up in bed and stretched, then stood and cricked her neck and her back, feeling the satisfying pop of shifting bone and muscle. Ahhh, this was much better. She felt completely rested and ready to take on the day, what little there was left of it. And when the day turned into night, she'd be ready to take notes and observe what could be one of the most important experiments in wizarding history.

She looked outside the window at the sunny day and smiled. She felt good, really good. She'd accomplished something last night; even if the potions hadn't worked, she'd put herself out there. She'd done something using her intellect and her magic and a bit of creativity. And she hadn't been afraid. It was a real start.

She grabbed a quick shower, pulling the razor over her legs as she thought of Draco's face when he found out what she'd been up to. He'd be surprised, that was for sure. She could just picture the way he would raise his eyebrow, the cute quirk of a lip as he decided whether to smile or come at her with a scathing remark.

Like she couldn't meet him insult for insult. Like they weren't perfectly matched in wit and stubbornness.

She threw on a pair of shorts and a tank top and wandered downstairs. Both Neville and Draco were in the kitchen, and it appeared they were looking over the list of volunteers.

"Morning, gentlemen. What's happening?"

Draco arched a brow. "It's after three, Granger. In the afternoon. We're a bit past morning. Or did you somehow have an accident and fall into a coma last night?"

She shrugged and bit back a smile. "Guess I was just sleepy."

"When I suggested you sleep in, I didn't mean Rip Van Winkle-style."

She waved her hand. "Oh, Malfoy, you're just so funny. You slay me with your wit. Now seriously, what are you two doing?"

Neville spoke up. "We're arranging the groups for tonight. We have eight potions and twenty-four participants, so we'll have eight groups of three. Since we only have three people per group, we can't have an equal number of men and women per potion, but we're still trying to keep everything as balanced as possible. Not just in gender, but in age and body size."

She nodded. "Good, good. Do you need help with anything?"

"Not right now," said Draco, "but we'd like to get started around six-thirty, seven at the latest. Dinner's at five-thirty tonight, and Astoria volunteered to do clean-up. We'll need to run through a few rules, decide which group gets which potion, that sort of thing, but it shouldn't take long. The participants were asked to be here by seven-thirty, and since eighteen of them have done this before, it won't take too long to get everyone settled."

"Sounds brilliant. I'll be outside if either of you boys need me." She grabbed the sandwich she'd been making and a glass of lemonade and made her way outside. There was a paperback novel tucked into the back pocket of her shorts.

Neville turned to look at Draco when Hermione was out of hearing range. "Seriously, Draco, you need to lock that down."

Draco scowled. "I've told you what happened; I told her how I felt, and she hasn't said a single thing about it since then. Maybe it's not meant to be."

"Bullshit. She's bloody gorgeous. Did you see those shorts? I mean, yeah, she was in my House and I totally respect her as a woman and I know she's the smartest witch I've ever met... but mate, those shorts. Those were naughty shorts."

"They were not!" protested Draco. "Look, she was going outside to read and get some sun. I'm sure that's why she put those on."

"No," Neville shook his head, "no way. There was nothing boring or studious about those shorts. Those were 'I've been a very, very bad witch and need a spanking' shorts."

Draco sputtered into his coffee. "Fuck, Neville, you've been hanging out Lavender Brown again, haven't you?"

He smirked. "Maybe."

"Sometimes I miss the loser in the sweater vest," muttered Draco. "He didn't date crazy birds with Daddy issues."

"The ones with Daddy issues are always the craziest in bed," Neville agreed. "Still, I think she's trying to get your attention sartorially."

"Big words won't erase the fact that you just said Hermione is begging for a spanking."

"Her clothes, Draco. Her clothes said that, not me."

"Whatever. Stop looking at her like that and let's get back to the list." Draco frowned and pretended to read the names listed on the parchment, but he couldn't stop picturing Hermione. Had she been trying to get his attention? He definitely saw her. Hell, he'd seen her in less than that, and gods, if that wasn't the absolute last thing he needed to be thinking about. He adjusted his pants and elbowed a grinning Neville in the ribs. "Shut it, Longbottom. We've got work to do."

* * *

Dinner went by fast with very little conversation coming from Neville, Draco, or Hermione. They were all eager to get going on the experiments, and Hermione couldn't help but feel hopeful. She didn't want to anticipate too much, but between the ten potions, she felt optimistic that one would work, or at least point them in the right direction.

It was a strange and somewhat unfamiliar feeling, optimism.

They carefully arranged the stations, Neville magically enlarging the room to fit everyone. Once the people changed into wolves, they'd need more space. Thanks to a few particular spells, there was no risk of anyone getting bit if one of the potions did go amiss. They were getting ready to distribute the potions when Draco called out, "Hey, what's this?"

Hermione grinned and tried to put on an innocent face. "What do you mean?"

"There are two more sets of potions here," he frowned. "Ten all together."

"Ah, yes," said Hermione. "I made two. We don't have to test them tonight, but maybe next month?"

"What did you put in them?" asked Neville.

She locked eyes with Draco and smirked. "I'm not telling until we test them. Sorry."

"How do you know they're safe?" asked Draco.

"I did that spell you taught me, but please, be my guest." She gestured to the bottles. "I needed a confirmation anyway."

He warily cast a spell at both potions in turn. "They're good. Or least they won't hurt anyone," he said.

"Excellent," said Neville. "Let's try them."

"Well, like I said, they're really for next month," explained Hermione. "I know we don't have enough volunteers for this month."

"Nonsense," said Draco brusquely. "Some of these potions are for shit anyways; a few less stirs shouldn't make that much difference. We'll test both of yours tonight. But then you will tell me what you put in them."

She smiled. "Agreed."

Once every participant was in their spot and the potions were laid out, they watched the clock, counting down the minutes. At exactly eight pm, Hermione, Draco and Neville each administered a bottle of potion to a volunteer in the first group. They asked the subjects for their reactions to taste, texture, and sensation and wrote down the notes. At 8:05, they moved to the next group and did the same. It was 8:40 by the time they'd taken down the last of their initial notes, and they sat back and waited.

The first potion was a slight variation on the base potion (but with more Wolfsbane), the second and third added differing amounts of Antimony, the fourth and fifth had differing amounts of fluxweed, and the sixth had both Antimony and Fluxweed. The seventh and eight potions were Hermione's, with her secret ingredient of Moonflower.

It was just past nine when the people began to change. The participants of the first, second and third group were changed into calm, docile wolves within a minute. The fourth and fifth groups changed slower, taking a full five minutes to complete the change, although it didn't appear to be painful, just awkward. The sixth group reacted similarly.

But the seventh group was a disaster. All three participants appeared to be stuck in the middle of the change; one had the claws of a wolf but otherwise the somewhat hairy body of a human. The woman in the group, Hermione thought her name was Marin, was now completely covered in thick, coarse fur, and her canine teeth had lengthened considerably, but she hadn't changed otherwise. The third man had the skin of a human but the posture of a wolf, and his jaw was slowly lengthening.

"Oh my gods," gasped Hermione, sinking down the far wall and onto the floor. "I'm so sorry. I am so, so sorry. Are you in pain?" she asked the half-wolf, half-people.

"'S not bad," said Marin, scraping a tooth on her jaw and drawing a line of rich, red blood. "Dun hurt, just uncomfable."

"Shh, don't talk, I'm sorry. I have a tranquilizer that will let you sleep," she said, holding up a potion. "Would you like that?" she asked them.

Each nodded, expect for the third man, who just whimpered.

The potion was quickly administered by Neville and Draco and the volunteers each fell into a deep sleep. Hermione drew her knees up to her chest and buried her face. "I shouldn't have tried; I was foolish," she whispered.

Draco slid down to the floor next to her and place a hand on her back. "Look, you didn't know. I mean, we knew that could be a possibility, but we didn't know what would do that and what wouldn't. It could have been any of the potions."

Neville sat down on her other side and put an arm around her waist. "'Mione, you affected the change; that's brilliant, even if it was sort of horrible. And on your first time!"

Hermione sniffed and leaned into her fellow Gryffindor, thankful for his reassurance. "I just didn't expect it to look so gruesome," she said.

"Um, excuse me." Hermione's head shot up to see who had spoken the words; she gasped. There, sitting in the far corner, three people were looking around, bewildered. "Uh, we haven't changed yet."

"Hoooooly shit," breathed Neville. "They haven't changed."

Draco looked at his watch. "It's 9:10. Everyone else who did change was done minutes ago."

The older woman in the trial group smiled. "I'll take an extra minute or two, believe me!"

"What does this mean?" asked Hermione. "Has this happened before?"

"No," said Neville and Draco simultaneously. "But we have to wait for morning to know if this has really worked," added Draco.

"What constitutes morning?" asked Hermione.

"Well, usually the change wears off around five," said Neville, "But I think it'd be best to wait until sunrise, just to be on the safe side. That's six."

"Okay." The three young people sat there and looked at each other, each trying not to get their hopes up. "So what should we do until then?" asked Hermione.

"We could play Exploding Snap," suggested Neville.

"NO!" said Hermione and Draco, looking at him pointedly.

"The normal kind," Neville sighed. "No alcohol. Come on, we're here on official business; what sort of bloke do you think I am?" He looked at the volunteers and smiled. "Anyone up for a game?"

* * *

Fifteen rounds of Exploding Snap, one terrible round of joke-telling, and two hours of small talk later, it was 5:58 a.m.

Hermione had bitten off each and every fingernail to the quick, and was pacing a trench into the floor. Neville had a stupid grin on his face and was rocking back and forth on his heels. Draco was silent, leaning back upon the supply table with his eyes closed.

The participants had all gone silent, and each stared at the clock, counting down the minutes. Hermione refused to watch the second hand go around one more time; it was torturous, the waiting.

"Time!" crowed Neville, and he grabbed Draco and Hermione into a tight and slightly-awkward hug. "That's it! We did it!" Draco untangled himself and looked at Hermione, his stoic face breaking into a wide smile. He grabbed her tightly and swung her around in a circle. "Oh my fucking GODS, Hermione, you did it! You and that bloody brilliant, gorgeous brain of yours." He grabbed her chin and kissed her forcefully on the lips, then leaned his forehead onto hers. "I knew you could do great things again. I knew you had that power in you somewhere."

She looked up at him from beneath damp lashes and smiled shyly. "You did?"

"Course," he said, and he leaned down and kissed her again. She hesitated for a moment, and then kissed him back, reveling in the still somewhat unfamiliar feeling. Neville coughed loudly and Draco flashed him a very rude hand gesture. Hermione laughed and pushed Draco away, turning to hug her new friends, the werewolves who hadn't become wolves.

When everyone was done embracing and congratulating one another, Draco placed his hand on Hermione's shoulder and squeezed it. "Nev and I've got this, if you need some rest. Everyone should be changing back soon."

"Okay, but before I go, I need your word on something. In front of Neville," Hermione said seriously.

"Sure, sure, what is it?"

She flashed a smirk that could rival any of Draco's. "You said that if I create a world-changing potion, I could set the price." She watched his eyebrows rise until they disappeared below his blonde fringe. "Three galleons."

Draco looked at Neville in disbelief. The other Gryffindor shrugged. "Deal's a deal, Malfoy. If that's what you told her, that's what needs to happen."

"Fine," growled Draco, "Three galleons."

"And a lifetime of free potion to each of the trial participants."

"A lifetime?" whined Draco. "Five years," he bartered. "I think that's fair."

"A lifetime," insisted Hermione.

"FINE. So damn bossy..." he muttered, but he couldn't keep the joy out of his eyes as she crowed with delight and sauntered out the door.

"Guess Gryffindor beats Slytherin once more," she shouted out before slamming the door of the laboratory, narrowly missing a thrown book.

She stopped in the kitchen when she spotted Astoria. "Story, what on earth are you doing up this early?"

Astoria grinned. "Yeah, like I was going to wait to get back from school to hear how everything went."

Hermione smiled. "Good point."

"So I take it from that very loud celebrating that something good happened?" Astoria asked hopefully.

"We did it!" Hermione squealed, throwing her arms around her friend. "We found the potion! And better yet, I found the potion! Me!"

"You've got to be kidding! You didn't tell me..."

Hermione shook her head and grinned. "I didn't tell anyone; just happened this morning. But I did it, and it worked! Well, it was a variation on Neville and Draco's work, only one added ingredient, but still. Merlin, Story, do you know what this means? Lives will be changed, people will be SAVED! Whole families, even communities, will benefit."

Astoria hugged her friend close. "This is amazing, Hermione. You saved people. Your magic saved people, you understand?"

Hermione stepped back and blinked away the wetness forming in her eyes. "Yeah, I guess it did." A tear fell down her cheek and she brushed it away. "Sorry to be all emotional, I think I'm just tired."

"Suuuure," said Astoria knowingly. "Guess you better go get some rest, then, eh?"

Hermione nodded and ran up the stairs, throwing herself into her bedroom and down on her bed. She laughed to herself quietly and took a deep breath. She felt different, lighter. There was a euphoria running through her that she hadn't felt in a long, long time. She peeled off her shorts and pulled up the covers, turning over once and then twice trying to get comfortable enough to relax. When she did fall asleep, she dreamed of wild white flowers that grew taller than any trellis could reach.


	58. Desire

Draco was cutting up vegetables when Hermione sauntered into the kitchen. That was really the only word for the way she was moving. She looked too damn pleased with herself. And she was wearing those shorts again.

She really was going to be the death of him.

She reached across him to the pile of cut veggies and grabbed a carrot, loudly biting into it. She smirked. "Three galleons. I really like the sound of that."

"Damn, stubborn Gryffindor, stealing my money AND my thunder," grouched Draco, but he couldn't keep his lips from quirking up.

"Draco, you just have to understand that I'm a mess of contradictions. The Muggle and the witch... blah blah blah. Funny, those contradictions. They can be extremely useful at times. Some would even say... magical."

He looked at her closely and his eyes widened. "The Moonflower. It was the bloody moonflower, wasn't it? The secret ingredient? Salazar, how did I not think of that?" he groaned.

"I don't know," she said around a bite of red pepper. "It is your favorite flower in any garden. I thought you would have given it a bit more credit. Could surprise you."

He turned to face her just as the door opened and a mess of red hair flew at them both. "Hermione! I can't believe you're here!"

"Ginny?" gasped Hermione. "It's so good to see you! What on earth are you doing here?" She pulled back and studied her friend. Ginny smoothed her hair, still wind-swept from what could only be Quidditch practice.

"Harry owled me and told me about the potion! Everyone's coming over tonight to celebrate. I talked to my coach and she let me miss the rest of practice, but she made me swear up and down it would never happen again. I'm so sorry I haven't had a chance to see you! They're so psychotic about practice during the season. They don't want us even seeing family during the finals for the Cup. Something about breaking concentration, enjoying life is bad for your game, whatever. It's been insane, but," she bit her lip, "Coach told me I might make captain next year."

"You're kidding!" Hermione reached for her friend again and drew her into a tight hug. "Gods, Gin, I'm so proud of you. And you look amazing, by the way."

Ginny had changed quickly before Apparating over; her long red hair was shot through with copper highlights, no doubt from being outside so much. The sprinkling of freckles combined nicely with her golden skin that never fully tanned, and she looked fashionable but totally at ease in the short summer dress she wore.

"Seriously, Gin, you look so grown up. I can't believe I waited so long to see you," Hermione said, choking up. "I'm sorry I was away, it was just..."

"No explanation needed, 'Mione." Ginny waved her off. "It's a new day."

"Ahem," coughed Draco. "If you two birds are done crying all over each other, I believe I'm entitled to a hello as well."

Ginny fixed Draco with a dirty look and crossed her arms. "Oh, really, Weasel?" Hermione bit her lip and studied the two, unsure of where this would go.

"Yes, really, Gingerbread, or you get nothing for dessert," Draco warned. That obviously did the trick, because Ginny laughed and gave Draco a bigger hug than she usually bestowed upon her brothers, even when they were on her good side.

Well, that was surprising.

"Go on," Draco said, "you two catch up and cackle and talk about nail varnish or whatever witches talk about."

"You don't need any help?" asked Hermione, eying the vegetables.

"No, I've got it covered. We're doing dinner potluck style, so I'm just in charge of salad and dessert. Go on, get. Everyone should be here in a couple hours. That ought to give you both time to get the ear-piercing squeals out of your systems."

Ginny stuck her tongue out at Draco and stole a carrot and a piece of celery, and the two women made their way outside.

"Mom's making a cake," Ginny said, "for Draco's birthday. This is sort of a 'congratulations-on-fixing-the-whole-furry-werewolf-problem plus birthday-party' party."

"Wait! Is today his birthday?" asked Hermione. Merlin, he'd said his birthday was coming up... what did he say the date was?

"No, it's two days away. We just thought we'd celebrate tonight."

"Phew," said Hermione, plopping down on the blanket she'd spread out on the grass. She turned to her friend and studied her. "It's really good to see you Gin, I mean it. You look so... grown up."

"You said that already."

"I know. But still... you do."

"Wait 'til you see Luna," Ginny smirked. "Apparently she's just started showing."

"Showing... Wait, she's pregnant?"

"Yup," said Ginny happily. "Just found out last weekend."

"So Story knows and she didn't say anything?" asked Hermione, incredulous.

"We've all been sworn to secrecy," said Ginny, rolling her eyes. "But they're telling everyone tonight. Act surprised."

"Will do," promised Hermione. "I can't believe we're old enough to know people who purposefully get pregnant," she said.

"We're not," said Ginny, "Luna and George are just too caught up in the clouds to realize that twenty and twenty-three is way too young to have kids."

"Says the girl who has been ready to marry Harry Potter since she was eleven," Hermione teased.

She spread out on the blanket under the warm Spring sun and she and Ginny talked until tears ran down their cheeks and their sides ached from laughter.

* * *

It was a fantastic party; Hermione couldn't remember being so happy. Almost the entire Weasley clan was there, including Bill and Fleur and their new baby, Victoire. Charlie and Percy hadn't been able to make it, but both sent their best wishes. Andromeda and Teddy came, and Hermione couldn't tear her eyes away from the young boy. He was the perfect combination of Remus and Tonks, and she once again teared up just looking at him. Hagrid came and brought some barely edible cookies that everyone pretended to love, and Lee Jordan, Dean Thomas, and Oliver Wood all stopped by for an hour or so. Hermione couldn't help but feel it was a strange meeting of the Order of the Phoenix (albeit it with some missing members), which she didn't mind at all.

She heard George teasing Draco about his tattoo, and she stopped to listen. "Godric, Malfoy, if you wanted to join the Order, all you had to do was ask. We don't ask for permanent body modification in order to prove loyalty. That's sort of a different group's M.O." He smirked.

"I like it," said Hermione. "I think it's brilliant."

"Of course you do," George said knowingly, and that was enough reason for Hermione to wander into another conversation.

Molly had brought more than enough food, and Draco's birthday cake wasn't one cake, but five different cakes, each a delicious and unique flavor.

It was past two in the morning when the final guest left (Neville, once again three drinks past tipsy). Hermione stretched and yawned, and begged off to shower. She relaxed into the steady stream of warm water, going over the past month and a half in her mind. So many things had changed so quickly. Even two weeks ago, she'd never have guessed she'd be here. For the first time in years, her magic didn't seem to be a danger to her, or a curse. She felt free.

* * *

Once in her room, Hermione settled into bed, but when she closed her eyes, she found that she really wasn't as tired as she'd thought. She tossed and turned for an hour, unable to keep her thoughts from racing. Invariably, they ended up in the same place: a floor down, in a small room where a certain wizard slept.

Frustrated, she got out of bed and walked over to her dresser. Staring into the mirror, she ran her fingers through her almost-dry waves, separating them and defining them. She bit her bottom lip and imagined his: plump and soft and addictive. He'd kissed her today, again, and in front of Neville. Twice. And she'd kissed back.

Her hand crept across her abdomen and she let her fingers sink below the elastic of her pajama shorts. "I want him," she whispered to herself, and shivered. It was more than just sex. At least, it would be. She didn't know what it would mean, but maybe that was enough for now. Knowing it was more.

She crept down the stairs, doing her best not to make a single sound. She should have used a silencing charm, that much was obvious, but she hadn't done non-verbal magic in so long, and saying the words out loud seemed to defeat the purpose of keeping silent.

And then she was in front of his room, the room she'd only been in once since coming back to Grimmauld, but she could picture it perfectly. The dresser, the framed picture of him as a young boy, the bed and the rug and the books. When she'd taken enough breathes to slow her racing heart down just a fraction, she reached for the knob and opened the door.

He was laying down, but while she turned to shut the door behind her, he had sat up and now he looked at her, silent.

"You said if things ever changed... I mean, that you'd want someone who wanted to be with you too..." she shivered, this time from nerves and the chill in the room. "So I'm here."

"Come over here."

She walked to the bed and sat down tentatively on the edge. "Hey, this is my old duvet," she said, picking at the dusty gray-blue cover. "I didn't notice last time I was in here."

He grunted in acknowledgment. "I meant what I said, Hermione. If this is what you want... it doesn't have to be a promise of something more. I understand that. But I'm not going to pretend it doesn't mean more to me, okay?"

"Okay," she said, and he moved aside as she scrambled under the covers. "It's cold."

He dragged the duvet up over both their heads and pulled her closer. "I can help with that."

"I should warn you, I still have nightmares. Of the war." Her voice had an uncomfortably forced casualness to it.

"Me too."

"Mine have been known to be the wake-up-screaming sort."

"I've been warned," he whispered, and then he kissed her. She leaned into it, and then he pushed up onto his elbow, draping his upper body over hers as he deepened the kiss. She responded easily, remembering how good his hair felt in between her fingers, the way he breathed out sighs; small ones, barely audible.

Tongues met, heartbeats quickened, and then he pulled off his shirt and she eagerly leaned up as he helped her remove hers.

"Promise me you're not going to call a time-out?" he asked, laughing weakly.

Hermione pulled back and looked into his eyes, stormy gray in the darkened room. She thought about the list of men that she had been with, the list of exactly one name. She pushed back the sweat-dampened hair clinging to his forehead and smiled. "Promise."

"You're so beautiful," he said, his tone filled with wonder. "I don't know why you're here, but I'm glad that you are."

The buildup was slow but intense, and Draco hadn't exaggerated the skills he'd acquired at school. When her shorts and knickers came off and she watched his blonde hair move down the bed, felt his soft lips trailing over stomach and hip bone and inner thigh and there, oh gods, do that again.

A hand in his hair to keep her earthbound, and a hand over her mouth to keep her quiet, she felt a finger and his tongue move within her and it was over; she flew, gasping and crying out as she slowly fell past stars and through stratosphere.

"Shhh, I've got you," he whispered, moving up her body to kiss her softly. She could taste herself on his lips and tongue. She felt the aftershocks of climax rack her body and she whimpered softly into his mouth.

"The muffled scream thing is hot," he smirked, "but I put up a silencing charm the minute you walked into the room. Feel free to be as vocal as you want for the next one."

The next one...

When she had come all the way back to earth and was thinking a bit more clearly, she rolled on top of him and began to kiss her way down his neck, his collarbone, a flick of tongue on each nipple, but when she move towards his navel he pulled her upwards and kissed her hard. "I can't tell you how much I want that, gods, but please not now. I need..." he looked at her imploringly, praying she wouldn't stop now.

She smiled softly, looking at the same time thoroughly debauched but still a little shy. "Okay," she whispered. "Do you have your wand?" she asked, and he quirked an eyebrow and thrust his hips into hers. She slapped him on the chest and laughed. "You are seriously fifteen years old."

He trailed a finger across her nipple, circling it and then squeezing it between his thumb and forefinger. "You should be very glad that's not true, because I can promise you, fifteen year old me wouldn't have been able to make your eyes roll back into your skull like that."

"So cocky," she said, and giggled as he pushed his hips up again.

"You're the one with all the dirty talk," he teased.

He reached next to the bed and grabbed his wand off the nightstand. He pointed it at himself and spoke the incantation, and then pointed it at Hermione.

"I'm alright," she said, looking down at his chest.

"Seriously?" he grinned. "I must say, that makes me feel pretty damn good. Did you cast the spell before or after you left your bedroom?"

"Before," she said, and covered her eyes in embarrassment.

"So you were sitting in your bedroom, thinking of me, thinking of this," he sat up and took her other nipple in between his teeth, laving it and then softly biting down.

"Yes," she breathed, arching her back.

"And you had the foresight to cast an anti-pregnancy spell?"

"Mmmhmmm," she gasped, her hands reaching out to grab his shoulders.

"Well Ms. Granger, that's very responsible of you," he growled as he flipped them over and straddled her waist. "Fifty points to Gryffindor."

"These should probably come off," she said, snapping the waistband of his briefs and smiling. He moved to the side and took them off, and was about to roll back when she put a hand to his chest and stopped him. She pushed up onto her elbow beside him and softly kissed his lips, then his neck, and then his shoulder. She pulled back, her eyes glancing down his body, seeing him totally vulnerable and naked for the first time. She trailed a hand down his stomach, feeling the smooth muscle beneath her palm tense and relax. She twirled a lock of blonde pubic hair between her fingers and then softly palmed his erection, listening to his choked breaths.

"If you want this to last, you need to let go now," Draco bit out, squeezing his eyes shut.

She kissed him and removed her hand, laying back in the bed and waiting.

He sat up and moved closer to her, covering her with his body, his hand reaching behind her head to cradle it as he softly kissed her. "I want it to be good for you," he spoke into her mouth.

"It already is," she said simply, and he nodded.

He lined himself up with her, took a deep breath, and began to push in. He gasped as he felt her surrounding him, drawing him in deeper with heat and sensation and fuck, nothing in his life had ever felt like this.

She bit down on her lip and tried to relax, and he noticed because he stopped, even though it was killing him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "It's just been a while. Just... keep going. Slow."

Once he was completely inside her he began to move slowly, reveling in the completely new and intoxicating sensation. She gripped his biceps tightly and gasped, and he almost lost it then, almost gave in to the overwhelming pleasure and just let go.

Slowly he pulled out, almost completely, and then he watched as he disappeared inside her. Fuck.

"Please," she whimpered, and he sped up. That melting feeling that had been there all night threatened to consume her again, and she shut her eyes and saw color swirling, blues and oranges and reds, and she threw back her head and shattered, and then he put her back together again as he came within her, filling her.

When they'd both come down Draco pulled out of her and kissed her softly, her hair, her eyes, her nose and her lips. Hermione smiled, happily sated, and curled up into his side. She was asleep within moments, but he remained awake for a little while, watching the rise and fall of her ribcage as she breathed and dreamed.

* * *

He woke up early in the morning to the sound of rain tapping on the slightly opened window. A small puddle gathered on the sill.

Next to him, Hermione stirred, her light brown hair covering her face as she burrowed into the pillow. He followed the line of her neck down to her back, memorizing each and every vertebrae until the curve of her bottom hid beneath the worn duvet.

He had never felt more lucky.


	59. Between the Shadow and the Soul

She woke up, knowing exactly where she was. She could feel him beside her, even if he was no longer touching her. The warm presence of Draco, the smell of his bed. She turned slowly, taking in his profile, the normally white-blonde hair darkened to the color of wheat in the early morning light. He looked like a child when he slept; serene, innocent, young. She'd never seen him like this. It was strange, being with him; not just in the bed, but awake when he was asleep, the quiet observer.

She leaned forward to brush a lock of hair off his face and felt something clench inside her chest. It tightened, a grip on her heart that she knew wouldn't leave anytime soon.

It had been more than sex. She knew it would be, but this feeling... it was more than that, even. It had seemed like a gamble last night, and a deadly risk this morning. She'd given herself to him, and he'd done the same. But it didn't change the fact that they were who they were. No matter how hard you try, the past never really goes away. And each of them had demons back there, waiting. It was just supposed to be a one-time thing, but she knew that she would become addicted, begin to need him more than she needed anyone. What if it didn't work?

She could picture herself, the pieces that made her real scattered on the floor. There was no way in hell she'd be put back together this time.

She wasn't sure it was a chance she was willing to take.

So she left.

* * *

When he woke up, she was nowhere to be found. He checked the kitchen, the living room, all the bedrooms, even the roof, but she was nowhere. He considered calling Harry, thought about getting a hold of Molly, but he knew where she was.

* * *

Her parents' house smelled the same, looked the same. But there was a difference, and she was pretty sure it lay within her. Her hands felt weird, too big or too little, she couldn't be sure. Her posture was too stiff, her smiles felt too sugary. Her parents didn't seem to notice. She felt like a bow, pulled completely taught, one hundred percent potential energy.

Her mum and dad had been surprised to see her, of course, but they hadn't questioned her impromptu early morning visit. She wondered if it was obvious that something was very, very wrong. She sat down to breakfast without much discussion, and she wasn't sure how she got the food onto her plate; it was enough that it was there.

She was halfway through her toast with jam when she heard the knocks on the door.

* * *

He knew the way now, so he Apparated. One, two, three hard knocks on the door and Patrick answered with a smile. "Draco, I didn't know you were stopping by this morning." There was not a trace of dishonesty on his face. So she hadn't said anything. Just showed up, like he was now. "Hermione invited me," he breathed, a grin on his face. "Didn't she tell you?" He was a Slytherin, after all. Fabrication came easy to him.

She heard her father say his name, but she didn't move. He'd found her. It wasn't surprising that he'd look here, but it was surprising that he'd left the house alone.

He hadn't done that before. Well, at least not since the war.

"Well come on in then!" Patrick led him through the living room, a hand clasped on his shoulder. Draco was steered into the kitchen, and the look on Granger's face... well, it wasn't as surprised as he would have thought.

She could feel the energy vibrating off of him. She wondered how much her mum and dad had guessed, based solely on intuition and vibes. They could be fairly empathetic, even around those they didn't know very well. Hermione had often thought that was one of the things that made them both such excellent dentists; they had an ease with people that couldn't be taught. She wasn't sure if the same could be said of her, at least not anymore.

But they had to feel the energy in the air. It was tense, and thick, and she felt she could swim in it if she tried. She wasn't sure what to say to keep the situation from spiraling, so she pretended that nothing was wrong and vowed to keep quiet.

It didn't last very long.

Draco sat down slowly, not willing to break eyesight with her. Granger looked cool and distant, and he felt the walls going up bit by bit. "Sorry I'm late," he said with a smile; he tried to make it look real, and open, and honest, but he wasn't, so it came out a smirk.

"It's a bit rude," Hermione offered and her mother choked on her tea. "Hermione!"

"Well," said Patrick, trying to minimize the obvious strain between the two. "Can I interest you in some bacon, Draco?" Draco accepted the platter willingly, filling up a good half of his plate. "And some eggs?" He took them without a word and stabbed at the food, eating quickly. If his mother could see him now...

Hermione sneaked looks at him as he inhaled his food. He was just sitting down to breakfast, like nothing was wrong. How the hell could he do that? After... well, after everything.

When he was done eating (at a record-breaking speed, he thought), he addressed the Gryffindor. "Care to take a walk, Hermione?"

"I'm still eating," she said, pushing the miniscule bits of food around her plate.

He stood up and walked over to her. "It looks like you're done, pet." The name was hissed through clenched teeth, and Hermione looked up at him in alarm, and then looked over to her parents. Her eyes told him without words, 'Exactly what the hell do you think you're doing?'

He offered her his hand and smiled beguilingly. She took it, not knowing what other choice she had. She didn't want to make a scene in front of her parents, and if the anger in Draco's eyes was any indication, he wasn't above talking in front of Patrick and Helen, no matter the subject matter.

When they were outside in the back yard, she whirled around to look at him, pushing him back into the far bushes. A wolfish smiled crossed his face. "Well if you wanted seconds that badly, Granger, you just had to ask."

"You complete arse!" she bit out, her golden eyes dark. "What the hell is your problem?"

"You!" he said. "You have been my problem since the night you showed up in my house."

"Well I guess it's a good thing I left, then."

He pulled at his hair, not trusting himself to speak. Wordlessly he paced back and forth, the grass flattening beneath his feet. He did his best to keep calm, clenched his fists at his side, worked on his breathing.

"Have at it, then," she said, rolling her eyes.

When he stopped and looked at her again, he didn't disguise the hurt in his eyes. "Why?"

"You'll have to be more specific," she said.

"You left," he said, and she felt his sadness pushing at her barricades.

She shrugged. "So I did."

"But last night..." He looked at the ground, hating himself for being so transparent. "It was more than just a fuck."

She shrugged again and looked uncomfortable.

He moved closer to her, daring her to look away. "Say it."

"Sometimes things like this... they just happen, Malfoy. They happen and it's great, but it's a one-time thing and that's all it is. All it should be."

He laughed, the sound bitter to her ears. "Oh really? This happen to you a lot, then?"

She shook her head.

"Have you left a trail of broken hearts all over London, is that what I am to believe?"

"You know it's not like that," she mumbled.

"You're right! I know. I know better. You can lie to yourself but I will not have you lie to me. Admit that it meant something! You let me inside you. Do you know what that means to me? That you would trust me like that?" He kept up his frantic pace, mumbling under his breath, words she couldn't hear or understand.

She turned away and began to walk toward the house, but he grabbed her arm and whipped her around. "Wha?" she protested, but the look on his face stopped her. He looked broken. "Say it," he begged.

"It meant something, okay?" she muttered.

"I know," said Draco, and he enfolded her into a bruising embrace. "It meant a whole lot," he whispered into her curls. "You have no idea what it meant to me."

But she did, and that's why she left. Why she always left, because it had become too real, too desperate. She didn't want to deal with the outcome, didn't want to see the disappointment. But she had; she saw the truth on his face, the pain of waking up in an empty bed after a night like that.

The grip on her heart constricted.

She let him hold her, because it was necessary then, for both of them. She hadn't made any promises, hadn't sworn her devotion or her heart, but they had crossed an invisible line that couldn't be erased. Things would be Different now, that much obvious. She wondered how her friends would react. She wondered how her parents would react. Hell, she wondered how she would react, because her brain hadn't really caught up with her racing pulse and wild emotions. Elation, terror, and something that felt suspiciously like contentment oozed through her pores. She wasn't sure which feeling was winning.

She felt him begin to pull back, and she buried her face in his chest. She wasn't ready to see the change, the big Difference, in his eyes. Everything felt sharp, too highly defined.

"Hey," he whispered into her hair, and he leaned down to force eye contact. "Don't over think this, okay? We've got time to freak out later."

"What if I can't be what you need?" she asked.

"What if you can?"

"What if I can't?" she repeated, stepping back, her chin jutting out defiantly.

"I don't believe that."

"What?"

"I think you're afraid that you may be just exactly what I need. And that I may be just exactly what you need."

She shook her head. "Doesn't mean it will last."

He pulled her to him again and bit down lightly on her shoulder. "Doesn't mean it won't."

She chewed her lip and nodded. There was time. "'Time for you and time for me, and time yet for a hundred indecisions, and for a hundred visions and revisions, before the taking of a toast and tea.'"

He chuckled deeply. "Quoting me T. S. Eliot, are you? What sort of person quotes poetry from memory?"

"I don't know, Mr. Muggle Magic Micro-wiz."

"Ohhh, beauty, brains AND wit! Be still my heart!"

"I'll still your heart if you don't stop teasing," she warned. "Come on, we should go back inside and face my parents. And anyway, I haven't had coffee yet. It's not the proper way to start the day."

He leaned down until his nose touched hers. "I would have given you a very proper good morning if you had stayed in my bed."

She laughed and slapped at his chest lightly. "So very subtle."

"I don't have to be subtle. I'm a Malfoy."

"Well, Mr. Malfoy, my parents are probably inside watching us," she said as she pulled away, clasping her hands behind her back in order to discourage herself from touching him.

"Do you think I should apologize? For breakfast, I mean?"

She shook her head. "No, let's just let it go and they will too." Just then Patrick and Helen stepped out onto the patio with a coffee carafe and what looked to be strawberries. Hermione plucked up her courage and slipped her hand into Draco's. "Come on then." He looked down at their clasped hands, surprised, and then smiled.

"Lead on, Bossy-Pants."

* * *

The afternoon passed by slowly. Draco was interrogated in a very relaxed way by both Patrick and Helen, who had obviously noticed the change in relationship since Draco's last visit. If they hadn't been privy to the awkward exchange over breakfast and subsequently spied a bit through the window in order to see the resolution, they would definitely have noticed the slight touches between the young adults. It was the way Hermione would rest her fingers on Draco's arm when she laughed; the subtle touch of Draco's hand against her thigh under the table. They looked happy.

Patrick had Draco help him grill for lunch, and Hermione was content to keep out of the way and eat the seasoned kebabs. It was just past four when they prepared to leave the Granger home. "Uh, do you mind waiting outside for a moment?" Hermione asked Draco. "I just want a quick word with my parents," she explained.

He sat on the front stoop, thumbing through a worn copy of "The Hitchhike's Guide to the Galaxy." Science fiction wasn't his thing, really, but Patrick had promised that he'd like it, and he remembered Hermione talking about it as well. He was halfway through the third chapter (what on earth was Hermione doing in there, anyway? He'd been sitting out there for at least thirty minutes) when the Gryffindor appeared again, carrying a very large trunk.

He raised an eyebrow as he jumped to his feet and she bit back a smile. "Think you could help me with this?" she asked, struggling under what looked to be a very substantial weight.

He hurriedly put down the book and reached to grab the trunk from her. He stumbled backwards and looked at her in amazement. The trunk was two pounds at the most, and he'd been unprepared.

"What do you have in here, feathers?"

"A few," she said. "And a few dozen books, the rest of my clothes, some CDs, a couple movies, and three dozen cookies that Mum insisted I take home with me."

"Home?" he asked hopefully, and she nodded.

He did his best to hide the smile but it was useless; it radiated, and anyway, it was honest. Home. "How the hell did you get all of that in here, anyway?" he asked.

"Magic," said Hermione with a smile.

* * *

**Epilogue**

* * *

"Draco!" Hermione hissed, pulling on the sleeve of his shirt. "You do realize people can SEE you?" She looked around the deserted neighborhood and frowned at the sound of his laughter.

"There's no one around," he said. "Calm down."

"You don't know that," she argued. "They could be watching from windows."

"Seriously? You think someone's hiding out behind their pretty, lacy drapes, watching me grab another box of books from that godforsaken moving van? That anyone would be so pathetic as to care?"

"First of all, they're not just my books. Seriously, I think you're the number one thing keeping Marek and Edwin in business. And secondly, new neighbors are interesting," she reasoned, "so yes, I do think people could be looking. And if you keep insisting on levitating the heavy stuff, people are going to start asking questions. Why didn't you just use a shrinking charm, anyway?"

"Wanted to look all Muggle-y," Draco said, "Obviously. We do have to try to fit in, Hermione. Maybe you're unaware, but Muggles don't know about magic, and this neighborhood is pretty Muggle-y. So we have to blend in." He quirked an eyebrow and waited for her response.

"Gods, you're annoying," she complained.

"But you love me anyway."

"Fine. Whatever."

"Whatever?"

"Yes. I love you. Now shut up and grab that box like a normal human being. And move your arse, you're in the way."

He clambered into the house and smiled. She was so easily riled.

"Put that one in the spare room with the others," she said, pointing at the box in his hands. "And then if you can grab one of the kitchen boxes next, the one with the plates, we can eat that lunch Molly made. On second thought, finish up with the books first. There's only a couple more boxes."

Draco dropped the box where he stood and tackled Hermione to the ground, muttering a quiet spell to break their fall. "I hope you realize, Granger, that moving in together doesn't give you some sort of permission to mother me."

"Please," Hermione said, rolling her eyes, "Like I'd want THAT responsibility. You were a terrible child."

"Was not."

"Was too."

"I happen to remember a certain frizzy-haired witch with big teeth who wasn't always a pleasant angel either."

"I have no recollection of such things."

"Mmmmhmmmm. Just promise me that when we have our own kids, they'll be good. Or we'll ship them off to school way before Hogwarts," Draco said with a smirk.

"Our OWN? What are you saying, Malfoy?"

"I'm saying you're stuck with me, Granger. Better get used to it."

"Now who's bossy?" She laughed and he grabbed her hands, pinning her to the floor. "Get off," she protested, pushing at his shoulder with hers.

Draco grinned down at her devilishly, lining up their hips and pressing against her. "Love to, only we haven't set up the bed yet. But the floor's good enough for me," he said with a shrug.

"No," she protested, trying to wrestle him off of her. "Not until we've finished unpacking."

"Fine, but you owe me," he said with a smirk.

"Owe you what?" Hermione asked innocently.

Draco shot her a meaningful look. "You know what."

She laughed and smacked his behind as he went outside to grab another box.

"Draco!" she shouted out the front door of their new flat, "books first, then kitchen. And get a move on, Ferret, I'm starving."

Draco smirked and waved her off. "Yeah, yeah, love you too, Bossy-Pants."

**. the end .**  


* * *

__  
Sonnet XVII

_I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,_  
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.  
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,  
in secret, between the shadow and the soul. 

_I love you as the plant that never blooms_  
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;  
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,  
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body. 

_I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where._  
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;  
so I love you because I know no other way 

_than this: where I does not exist, nor you,_  
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,  
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep. 

_\- Pablo Neruda_


End file.
